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i.  Nature,  Addresses,  and  Lectures.  2.  Essays:  First 
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5.  English  Traits.  6.  Conduct  of  Life.  7.  Society  and 
Solitude.  8.  Letters  and  Social  Aims.  9.  Poems.  10. 
Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches.  n.  Miscellanies. 
12.  Natural  History  of  Intellect,  and  other  Papers.  With 
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HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


JOURNALS 

OF 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

1820-1872 

VOL.  I 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


JOURNALS 


OF 

RALPH   WALDO   EMERSON 

WITH  ANNOTATIONS 

EDITED  BY 

EDWARD  WALDO  EMERSON 

AND 

WALDO  EMERSON  FORBES 


1820-1824 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

<$be  ftibergibe  pre^  Cambridge 

1909 


COPYRIGHT,   1909,   BY  EDWARD  WALDO  EMERSON 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Published  November  IQOQ 


-0s 

UNIVERSITY 


INTRODUCTION 


V,  /    "  . 


IN  the  year  1902  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin 
and  Company  asked  me  whether  Mr.  Emer 
son's  journals  could  not  be  published,  to  fol 
low  the  annotated  edition  of  the  Works  which 
they  were  to  bring  out  in  honour  of  the  ap 
proaching  Centenary.  This  question  was  re 
ferred  to  Mr.  Cabot,  whom  Mr.  Emerson,  trust 
ing  to  his  good  judgment  and  taste,  had  made 
his  literary  executor.  Mr.  Cabot,  after  a  little 
consideration,  said  "  Yes."  Many  persons,  he 
agreed,  would  gladly  see  Emerson's  first  record 
of  his  thoughts,  come  nearer  to  the  man  than 
in  the  essays  carefully  purged  of  personality, 
and  also  trace  the  growth  of  his  powers  of  ex 
pression  in  prose  or  rhyme,  and  the  expansion 
of  his  mind  during  the  fifty  years  or  more  that 
the  journals  cover. 

Mr.  Cabot  said  that  he  was  too  old  to  under 
take  further  literary  work,  and  expressed  his 
wish  that  I  should  be  the  editor  :  "  Only  take 
time  enough,"  he  said  ;  "  do  not  allow  your 
self  to  be  hurried."  A  few  months  later,  Mr. 
Cabot  died.  I  was  deprived  of  his  important 
and  valued  counsel. 


192668 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

The  journals  were  postponed  until  the  Cen 
tenary  Edition  with  its  additions  and  notes  was 
published ;  then  the  consideration  of  them  be 
gan.  Mr.  Emerson's  grandson,  Mr.  Waldo 
Emerson  Forbes,  expressed  his  willingness  to 
share  the  labour  of  editing  the  journals.  This 
aid  has  been  of  great  importance. 

At  first  the  plan  included  only  the  journals 
from  the  time  of  Mr.  Emerson's  new  departure 
in  life  and  writing  after  his  return  from  his  first 
visit  to  Europe  in  the  autumn  of  1833;  ^ut> 
on  carefully  reading  the  journals  for  the  four 
teen  years  preceding  that  time,  —  for  the  boy 
faithfully  kept  them  from  the  age  of  seventeen 
onwards,  —  it  seemed  well  to  the  editors  to 
introduce  large  extracts  from  these.  Before 
deciding  to  do  so,  however,  they  showed  speci 
mens  of  the  boyish  entries  to  several  persons 
in  whose  taste  and  literary  judgment  they  con 
fided,  and  were  confirmed  in  the  plan  by  their 
less  partial  opinions.  For  we  believe  that  those 
who  care  about  Emerson,  his  thought  and 
ideals,  may  wish  to  look  beyond  the  matured 
and  sifted  work  that  he  left  in  his  books,  and 
see  the  youth  in  his  apprenticeship,  the  priest 
in  his  noviciate  and  in  his  full  office  caring  for 
his  people;  his  studies,  questionings  and  hopes; 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

his  final  sacrifice;  meantime,  the  warmth  and 
tenderness  that  came  into  this  monastic  life  with 
his  love  for  Ellen  Tucker  and  his  marriage, 
soon  followed  by  her  death  and  the  sad  wreck 
of  the  new  home ;  then,  after  the  parting  with 
his  church,  the  pilgrimage  over-sea  to  restore 
his  health  and  see  certain  men  whose  written 
words  had  helped  him. 

The  extracts  from  the  early  journals  are  not 
chosen  for  their  merit  alone :  they  show  the 
soil  out  of  which  Emerson  grew,  the  atmos 
phere  around,  his  habits  and  mental  food,  his 
doubts,  his  steady,  earnest  purpose,  and  the 
things  he  outgrew.  His  frankness  with  himself 
is  seen,  and  how  he  granted  the  floor  to  the 
adversary  for  a  fair  hearing.  Also  the  ups  and 
downs  of  the  boy's  health  appear  in  the  school- 
keeping  days,  and  why,  beyond  all  reasonable 
hope,  considering  the  neglect  of  the  body,  he 
lived  to  a  healthy  middle  life  and  old  age 'by 
his  rambling  tendencies,  by  quietness,  and  bend 
ing  to  the  blast  which  shattered  the  health  of 
his  more  unyielding  brothers. 

In  these  years  the  young  Emerson  was  read 
ing  eagerly  and  widely,  and  learned  to  find  what 
the  author  or  the  college  text-book  hadforbim, 
and  leave  the  rest.  The  growth  of  his  literary 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

taste,  his  style,  independence  of  thought,  and 
originality  in  writing  verse  can  be  traced. 

But  from  first  to  last  appears  the  value  to 
him  of  his  strange  aunt,  Miss  Mary  Moody 
Emerson,  in  her  constant  interest  and  stimu 
lating  influence :  poor,  remote,  only  self-edu 
cated,  hungry  for  knowledge,  extraordinarily 
well-read,  exalted  in  her  religious  thought, 
critical  but  proud  of  her  nephews,  especially 
Ralph,  and  a  tireless  correspondent.  The  boy 
prized  her  letters,  and  they  put  him  on  his 
mettle.  His  most  careful  youthful  writing  is 
in  his  answers  ;  he  holds  his  own  in  them. 
Large  extracts  from  her  letters  and  his  an 
swers  occur,  especially  in  the  earlier  journals. 
He  admired  her  rhetoric,  now  poetical,  now 
fiery,  now  sarcastic,  —  always  her  own. 

It  was  Mr.  Emerson's  habit  often  in  later 
years  to  copy  into  his  journal  passages  from 
his  letters  to  others  in  which  he  had  conveyed 
his  thought  with  care. 

It  was  as  natural  to  this  boy  to  write  as  to 
another  to  play  ball,  or  go  fishing,  or  experiment 
with  the  tools  of  a  neighbour  carpenter,  or  feel 
out  tunes  on  a  musical  instrument.  When  reci 
tations  were  over,  and  study  did  not  press,  or 
he  was  not  walking  in  Mount  Auburn  woods 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

or  the  wild  country  around  Fresh  Pond,  he 
betook  himself  to  his  journal.  It  was  his  con 
fidential  friend  :  his  ambitions,  his  disappoint 
ments,  his  religious  meditations,  his  mortifi 
cations,  his  romantic  imaginings,  his  sillinesses, 
his  trial-flights  in  verse,  his  joy  in  Byron  and 
Scott,  or  Everett's  orations,  the  ideas  gathered 
from  serious  books,  —  all  went  in,  everything 
but  what  might  be  expected  in  a  boy's  diary ; 
for  of  incidents,  of  classmates,  of  students'  do 
ings,  there  is  hardly  an  entry.1 

Throughout,  and  increasingly  in  later  years, 
these  are  journals,  not  of  incidents  and  per 
sons,  but  of  thoughts. 

With  the  biography  of  Mr.  Emerson  in  mind 
or  in  hand,  the  outward  conditions,  or  relations 
with  people  or  public  events  which  suggested 
a  train  of  thought,  may  perhaps  be  found.  A 
talk,  or  ramble  with  a  friend,  or  the  reading 
of  a  book,  may  be  mentioned,  but  soon  the 
thought  takes  its  own  direction.  More  often 
the  thoughts  were  on  the  great,  the  abiding 
questions. 

The  journals  of  exile  in  Florida  and  of  the 

i  On  this  account  it  seemed  well  to  introduce  the  annals  of 
the  Pythologian  Club,  of  which  Emerson  was  Secretary,  giv 
ing  a  flavour  of  the  students'  life  at  that  time  and  his  part  in  it. 


x  INTRODUCTION 

visit  to  Europe  in  1833  are  exceptional,  as 
being  real  records  of  daily  life,  of  voyages  in  a 
packet  ship,  of  sight-seeing,  of  travel  in  Malta, 
Sicily,  the  Italian  cities,  through  the  Brenner 
Pass,  to  Paris,  the  sights  as  well  as  thoughts 
there ;  then  of  the  visits  in  England,  and  the 
voyage  home.  Much  of  the  account  of  the  visits 
to  Landor,  Coleridge,  Wordsworth,  and  Car- 
lyle  is  omitted  in  these  volumes,  as  it  is  printed 
in  English  Traits.  The  notes  of  the  second  trip 
abroad  are  less  full.  Mr.  Emerson  printed  many 
of  them  in  that  book,  and  others  have  been 
given  in  the  notes  to  that  volume  in  the  Cen 
tenary  Edition.  During  his  third  journeying 
abroad,  in  1871-72,  when,  sent  by  his  friends, 
Mr.  Emerson  visited  England,  France,  Italy 
and  Egypt,  he  took  no  notes,  as  his  health  and 
spirits  were  far  below  their  usual  standard. 

After  1833,  the  journals  are  of  greater  inter 
est,  for  Mr.  Emerson  was  entering  on  a  new 
life  and  founding  his  new  home,  whither  he 
brought  his  wife,  Lidian  Jackson,  and  where 
their  children  were  born.  One  finds  the  men 
tion  of  the  planting  of  trees,  the  gradually 
added  fields,  orchard,  and  —  best  for  him  — 
woodland  by  Walden.  Turning  his  back  on 
tradition,  he  sought  the  living  God  in  Nature 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

and  the  soul.  The  book  Nature  sped  well  and 
was  soon  published.  Day  by  day,  the  journal 
was  the  storehouse  of  the  thoughts  given  him  in 
the  wood. 

Wandering  voices  in  the  air 

And  murmurs  in  the  wold 
Speak  what  I  cannot  declare, 

Yet  cannot  all  withhold. 

These  journals  are  reflections,  sometimes 
dim,  sometimes  clear,  of  the  inner  life  as  stirred 
by  the  outer.  The  study  of  Nature  led  to  in 
creasing  interest  in  Natural  History,  but  always 
as  a  key  to  unlock  chambers  of  thought.  The 
first  lectures  after  his  European  trip  were  on 
this  subject. 

Mr.  Emerson  often  preached  by  invitation  in 
various  towns  for  several  years,  with  good  ac 
ceptance.  But  when,  in  1 837  and  1 838,  he  spoke 
for  free  thought  in  letters  and  religion  before 
chosen  audiences  gathered  at  the  University, 
reaction  followed  and  he  stood  condemned  by 
many  of  the  elder  professors,  clergy,  and  lead 
ing  citizens,  as  visionary,  dangerous,  or  insane. 
The  journals  show  that,  however  bravely  Mr. 
Emerson  stood  against  the  tide  which  then 
looked  so  strong,  it  seemed  at  the  time  as  if  he 
might  be  outlawed  as  speaker  and  writer,  and 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

have  to  turn  to  the  soil  for  a  living.  The  event 
quickly  did  away  with  such  a  fear.  Societies 
at  country  colleges,  apparently  unaware  of  his 
heresies,  asked  him,  year  by  year,  to  speak  to 
them  ;  his  Boston  lectures  won  him  increasing 
audiences,  and  new  friends,  and  the  spread  of 
the  Lyceums  from  East  to  West  gave  him  a 
hearing  wide  as  could  be  desired.  The  bases 
of  these  lectures,  which,  thus  tested  and  sifted, 
became  the  essays,  came  from  these  day-book 
entries  of  thoughts,  sights,  experiences,  and  the 
fine  passages  of  his  reading. 

Now  new  friends  appear  one  by  one  :  the 
young  Thoreau,  loyal  and  skilful  helper  in  all 
practical  matters,  yet  keeping  his  fine  inde 
pendence,  the  Platonic  Alcott,  Jones  Very  the 
mystic,  Father  Taylor,  Dr.  Hedge,  and  always 
the  beautiful  and  sisterly  presence  of  Miss  Eliza 
beth  Hoar,  who  should  have  been  the  wife  of 
Charles  Emerson.  The  new  home  had  been  sad 
dened  by  the  death  of  the  two  brilliant  younger 
brothers,  Edward  fading  away  in  Porto  Rico, 
and  Charles,  not  two  years  later,  in  Concord.  A 
few  years  later  Samuel  Gray  Ward  is  often  al 
luded  to,  to  whom  the  "  Letters  to  a  Friend  " 
were  written  ;  then  Margaret  Fuller  came,  and 
Charles  Newcomb  from  Providence,  a  youth 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

for  whom  Emerson  cared  much,  and  later,  Ellery 
Channing  and  Hawthorne  became  his  neigh 
bours. 

The  earlier  friends,  of  course,  appear  :  the 
venerable  Doctor  Ripley  and  his  beneficent  son 
Rev.  Samuel,  of  Waltham,  his  gifted  wife,  Sarah 
Bradford,  and  her  brother  George,  whom  Mr. 
Cabot  speaks  of  as  the  only  "crony"  that  Mr. 
Emerson  ever  had.  At  this  period  Waldo,  the 
little  son  so  soon  to  be  taken  away,  comes  into 
the  Journal,  a  delight  to  his  father. 

The  Transcendental  Epoch  meantime  comes 
on,  with  its  star-led  souls,  but  also  many  re 
formers  of  small  and  strange  pattern,  uncom 
fortable  creatures  who  had  hitched  their  wagons 
to  the  smallest  asteroids.  These  were  hospita 
bly  heard  and  fed, —  Mr.  Emerson's  humanity, 
as  appears  in  the  journals,  helped  out  by  his 
sense  of  humour.  Always  the  friend  across  the 
sea,  Carlyle,  remains  a  planet  in  his  heaven, 
though  sometimes  with  smoky  and  lurid  light. 

Goethe's  wide  range  of  thought  was  stimulat 
ing,  especially  in  the  domain  of  Art,  but  the 
New  England  conscience  could  not  accept  the 
man. 

A  little  earlier  than  the  days  of  the  Dial,  the 
Neo-platonists  stirred  Mr.  Emerson  by  their 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

mysticism  and  strange  imagery,  and  from  them 
he  followed  upward  the  stream  of  thought  that 
had  influenced  these  to  their  remote  sources  in 
the  scriptures  of  the  ancient  East.  He  found 
delight  by  the  way  in  the  gardens  of  Persia, 
with  Saadi  and  Hafiz.  In  the  verse-books 
many  trial-renderings  of  their  poems  (from  the 
German)  are  found.  Traces  of  all  these  influ 
ences  appear  in  his  notes. 

In  1848,  Mr.  Emerson,  setting  his  face  to 
wards  home  after  his  stay  in  England,  wrote 
"Boundless  freedom  in  America,"  but  was 
forced  to  add  "  in  the  North,'*  for  from  that 
time  on  for  thirteen  years  the  cloud  of  Slavery 
grew  darker,  and  the  attitude  of  Northern  poli 
ticians  and  merchants  was  sadly  subservient, 
while  the  "  comfortable  classes  "  seemed  indif 
ferent,  even  the  clergy  and  the  scholars.  Cer 
tain  of  the  journals  show  how  heavily  the  load 
of  the  Country's  shame  lay  on  Emerson,  and 
in  them  are  found  his  notes  of  opinions  given 
by  great  men  of  law,  which  he  had  sought  out, 
on  the  basal  rights  of  man  and  the  supremacy 
of  the  moral  law.  In  these  days,  although  he 
well  knew  that  the  law  of  Compensation  was 
sleeplessly  working,  out  of  sight  —  already  the 
rifts  made  by  Conscience  were  running  through 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

the  parties,  —  its  slow  action  tried  even  his 
brave  philosophy.  He  saw  too  far  to  devote 
his  life  to  abate  this  special  evil,  but  his  aid 
was  never  wanting  at  a  time  of  danger,  as  a 
strong  ally  to  those  brave  men  who  did.  Loyal 
to  the  ideal  Republic,  disregarding  coldness  or 
hostility,  there  was  no  tremor  in  his  voice  as  it 
rang  out  clearly  for  the  eternal  rights.  In  those 
years  he  had  the  relief  each  winter,  given  by  his 
lecturing  journeys  afar,  of  seeing  the  new  coun 
try  of  youth  and  courage,  and  speaking  a  word 
for  Freedom  as  he  passed. 

The  war  came,  and  he  rejoiced  in  the  clear 
ing  of  the  heavens  once  more,  though  grieving 
at  the  wreck  left  by  the  cruel  storm.  In  the 
journal  of  January,  1862,  when  Mr.  Emerson 
gave  before  the  Smithsonian  Institute  in  Wash 
ington  his  lecture  "Civilization  at  a  Pinch," 
in  which  he  earnestly  urged  Emancipation,  he 
wrote  out,  in  detail  unusual  for  him,  the  story  of 
his  meeting  President  Lincoln,  Seward,  Chase, 
Sumner,  and  others  of  the  leading  actors  in  the 
great  drama. 

Peace  returned,  and  the  Country  seemed 
one  to  be  proud  of  as  never  before.  Mr.  Emer 
son's  relief  and  his  high  hopes  appear  in  the 
journals,  and  reappear  in  the  poems  and  later 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

essays.  Then  began  a  calmer,  pleasanter  chapter 
in  his  life.  Years  ago  he  had  "  planted  himself 
on  his  thought,"  and  now  "  the  world  had  come 
round  to  him/'  He  was  now  widely  known  on 
both  sides  of  the  ocean  through  his  words  and 
work,  and  welcomed  as  a  helper.  But  the  in 
creasing  call  for  lectures  from  a  newer  West 
beyond  the  Mississippi  allowed  no  abatement 
of  work,  and  the  journeying,  though  less  expos 
ing,  was  greater.  His  material  was  still  accumu 
lating,  but  the  arrangement  of  the  choice  pieces 
into  a  harmonious  mosaic  was  growing  more 
difficult  than  ever  for  him.  One  day  he  met 
the  God  of  Bounds,  who  said, — 

No  more  ! 
No  farther  shoot 

Thy  broad,  ambitious  branches  and  thy  root. 
Fancy  departs:  no  more  invent; 
Contract  thy  firmament 
To  compass  of  a  tent. 


A  little  while 

Still  plan  and  smile, 

And  —  fault  of  novel  germs  — 

Mature  the  unfallen  fruit. 

"  Timely  wise,"  he  accepted  the  terms  ;  but, 
until  he  told  of  this  meeting,  no  one  had  found 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

out  that  he  was  growing  old.  His  powers  failed 
so  gradually  that  not  until  the  shock  and  ex 
posure,  culminating  in  serious  illness,  at  the 
time  of  the  burning  of  his  house,  did  anyone 
realize  that  his  strength  was  failing.  But  the 
journals  show  it,  for  although  in  the  middle 
period  of  his  life  the  entries  in  these  were  not  so 
many  as  when  his  time  was  freer,  after  the  war  they 
are  much  fewer.  The  fact  that  Society  and  Soli 
tude,  and  May  Day,  the  second  book  of  poems, 
were  in  preparation  partly  accounts  for  this. 

Mr.  Emerson  had  great  happiness  in  that 
period  in  giving  rein  to  his  poetic  instinct,  now 
refined,  and  in  "  crooning  rhymes  "  as  he  walked 
in  the  woods,  —  lines  for"  May  Day," "  Wai d- 
einsamkeit,"  "  My  Garden,"  and  other  frag 
ments.  The  verse-book  rilled  as  the  journal 
shrank. 

With  the  illness  of  1872  the  journals  practi 
cally  came  to  an  end,  nor  after  that  time  did 
Mr.  Emerson  do  any  original  work  except 
endeavouring  to  mend  or  arrange  passages  in 
unpublished  lectures  for  the  promised  volume 
Letters  and  Social  Aims  /  but  he  felt  his  inabil 
ity  for  this  task,  and  consented  to  the  calling 
in  by  his  family  of  Mr.  Cabot's  willing  and 
admirable  aid. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

A  few  things  remain  to  be  said :  — 

1.  In  these  volumes  are  selections;  not  the 
whole,  but  the  greater  part  of  the  contents  of 
the  journals. 

2.  During   his  most  productive  years    Mr. 
Emerson  used  in  his  books  a  great  part  of  the 
thoughts  set  down  in  the  journals,  often  with 
little  or  no  change  in  form.  Such  paragraphs  are 
for  the  most  part  left  out,  but  sometimes,  if  im 
portant,  are  referred  to.    In  some  instances  it 
seems  well  to  give  the  original  form,  which  may 
show  the  conditions. 

3.  Most  of  the  personal    references,  unless 
too  private,  are  given.   Mr.  Emerson's  notes 
are  free  from  offence  in  this  particular. 

4.  The  passages  in  which  "  Osman  "  appears 
are   not  to  be  taken  as  exact  autobiography, 
though   they  come  near  being  so.    "  Osman " 
represents,  not  Emerson  himself,  but  an  ideal 
man  whose  problems  and  experiences  are  like 
his  own. 

5.  In  some  cases  where  Mr.  Emerson  quotes 
passages    from  memory  erroneously,  the  true 
version  has  been  given. 

6.  The  reading  of  the  youth,  as  shown  by 
the  quotations,  seems  to    have  been  so  wide, 
and  his  love  of  certain  authors  so  great   and 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

constant,  that  it  seemed  well  to  give  lists  of  the 
books  referred  to  or  authors  mentioned  in  each 
year  up  to  1833.  Of  course  many  of  these 
quotations  were  at  second  hand,  yet  led  the 
eager  scholar  to  seek  out  the  original  work. 
Plutarch,  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Montaigne, 
Jonson,  Newton,  Burke,  Scott,  Byron,  Words 
worth,  are  quoted  so  often  that  we  have  in  the 
lists,  year  by  year,  set  down  their  recurring 
names  to  show  his  love  for  them.  After  1833 
only  the  notable  books  of  the  newer  reading 
will  be  mentioned. 

It  is  interesting  to  see  on  the  pages  of  the 
early  journals  how  the  boy's  hand  instinctively 
strayed  from  writing  to  drawing  heads.  A  few 
of  these  are  given  in  the  illustrations  which 
seem  to  show  that  Emerson  had  some  gift  in 
that  direction,  had  he  chosen  to  follow  it. 

The  cordial  thanks  of  the  editors  are  due 
to  those  friends  who  have  helped  them  in  their 
task  by  their  valuable  counsel. 

EDWARD  W.  EMERSON. 

September,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

COLLEGE 

JOURNAL  I 

1820 

Socrates,  < « Phrases  poetical. ' '  Song  for  Conventicle  Club. 
Rebellion  of  1820 3 

JOURNAL  II 

1820 

Dedication.  "Edward  Search."  Imagination.  The  Mov 
ing  Universe.  Pulpit  Eloquence.  Webster.  Occupa 
tions.  Romantic  dreams.  Return  of  Spring.  Everett's 
Lecture.  Greek.  In  vocation  of  Spirits.  Sortes  Virgili- 
an<e.  Ben  Jonson.  Barrow.  Cloud-shows.  Bacon : 
The  Novum  Organum.  The  Possible  Friend.  Specula 
tions  in  the  Future.  Consideration  of  the  Journal. 
Books.  Record  of  the  [Pythologian]  Society.  .  .  10 

JOURNAL  III 

1820 

Drama.  The  Exact  Sciences.  Poems :  To  the  Possible 
Friend ;  Care  and  Caress 52 

JOURNAL  IV 

1820-21 

The  Gift  of  Fancy.  Professor  Ticknor' s  Lecture.  Verses, 
Fancy.  Journal-writing  versus  Mathematics.  Everett. 


xxii  CONTENTS 

Exhibition  Day  ;  Oratory  of  Barnwell  and  Upham. 
The  Possible  Friend  again  ;  verses.  Milton.  Scott's 
Abbot.  Recipes  to  occupy  the  time.  Everett;x  Value 
of  Simplicity  in  Eloquence.  Imitation  of  Chateau 
briand.  Escape  from  his  School-room.  Everett's 
Sermon.*' Aunt  Mary's  Religion.  Price  On  Morals. 
Use  of  Sickness.  Recovery  ;  Prayer.  The  Possible 
Mind  again.  Everett.  Books.  The  Universe,  a  Quota 
tion-Book 63 


TEACHER 

JOURNAL  V 

1822 

Contrast.  Aunt  Mary  on  Genius.  Religion  ;  its  History. 
Of  Poetry.  Drama.  A  Venture  in  Romance.  Verses, 
Idealism.  The  Circle  of  the  Virtues 95 

JOURNAL  VI 

1822 

Dedication.  Providence.  Novels.  College  revisited.  A 
Romance  ;  Verses.  Social  Feelings.  Romance  waning. 
A  Vision.  Greatness.  Ballad,  The  Knight  and  the  Hag. 
Social  Feelings  again.  Death.  Drama  again.  Fiction. 
Prophecy ill 

JOURNAL  VII 

1822 

Dedication ;  The  Giant  of  Chimborazo.  Vain  World. 
Populace.  Martyrdom.  Habit.  Reflections:  From 


CONTENTS  xxiii 

Senior'to  School-teacher;  Mortification.  Otis  in  Faneuil 
Hall.  Poem,  Marathon.  The  coming  Walking-jour 
ney.  The  Country  ;  The  Wood-Gods.  Drama  again. 
God.  Differing  Rank  of  Nations  ;  Greece.  Lico'd,  song 
of  the  Tonga  Islanders 132 

JOURNAL  VIII 
1822 

Dedication  ;  The  Spirit  of  America.  The  Moral  Law. 
God.  Poem,  The  River.  Drama  again.  Reason. 
Drama  again.  The  Organ  of  Siphar  Trees.  The  Land 
of  Not.  Clarke,  Butler,  Paley,  Sherlock,  Newton. 
Conclusion  ;  Webster 160 

JOURNAL  IX 

1822 

Dedication.  Vision  of  Slavery.  Moral  Law  again.  Jus- 
tice.  God's  Benevolence.  Professor  Andrews  Norton. 
Verses,  Solitary  Fancies.  The  Friend  denied.  Benevo 
lence  again.  Greatness.  America.  Books  .  .  .  .176 

JOURNAL  X 

1822-23 

Dedication.  Good  Hope.  Alfred  the  Great.  Everett's 
Lecture.v  Death.  Time.  Moral  Sense.  Enthusiasm.  ^ 
Prayer.  History  ;  its  dark  side  ;  meagreness  in  pros 
perous  times.  Domestic  Manners  and  Morals.  Solitude. 
Imagination  versus  Thought.  Animals.  Body  and  Soul. 
Men  of  God 205 


xxiv  CONTENTS 

JOURNAL    XI 
1823 

Dedication.  Time.  Poem,  The  Bell.  Free  Thinking. 
Self-Examination.  Poem,  A  Shout  to  the  Shepherds. 
America  a  Field  for  Work.  Compensation.  Moral 
Obligation.  Dramatic  Fragment"( blank  verse).  Morals 
pervading  the  Universe.  Trade.  Reading  in  Job. 
Temptation.  Epilogue 232 

JOURNAL  XII 
1823 

A  Walk  to  the  Connecticut ;  Framingham,  Worcester, 
Leicester,  Brookfield,  Western,  Ware,  Belchertown, 
Amherst,  Mount  Holyoke,  Hadley,  Hatfield,  Whate- 
ly,  Deerfield,  Greenfield,  Montagu,  Wendell,  New 
Salem,  Hubbardston,  Princeton,  Sterling,  Waltham. 
The  Tides  of  Thought.  God  and  his  Works.  William 
Withington.  Andover  Seminary.  Edwards,  On  the 
Will.  Letter  to  Withington  on  Studies  and  Reading. 
Dr.  Channing's  Sermon.  Verses.  Hume's  Essay. 
Edinburgh  Review.  Love.  Fear  of  Criticism.  Verses, 
Sbakspeare.  Religion,  Milton's  Prose.  Books  .  .  267 

JOURNAL  XIII 

1823-24 

Sameness.  Self-esteem.  Romance.  Crossing  Stocks.  East 
Indian  Mythology.  Beauty.  Verses,  Thought.  The 
Puritan  Movement.  A  School.  Aristocracy.  Genius 
versus  Knowledge.  Friendship.  Society.  Beginnings. 


CONTENTS  xxv 

Action  and  Thought.  Burke,  Fox,  Pitt,  Franklin.  No 
Original  Work  now.  Verses.  The  Egyptians.  The 
Farmer.  Philosophic  Imagination,  Buckminster.  Lux 
ury.  Letter  to  Aunt  Mary  :  Reason  and  Science  in 
Religion;  Newton.  Metric  System.  Earl  Carnarvon's 
Speech.  Chauncy  and  Whitefield.  Letter  from  Aunt 
Mary:  Reproof;  Poetry  a  Tempter  ;  Caesar  and  Cic 
ero  ;  Inborn  Images  ;  The  Drama  ;  The  Apocalypse. 
Priestcraft 299 

JOURNAL  XIV 

1824 

Pascal.  Praise.  Inventions.  Asia,  Bossuet.  Auld  Lang 
Syne.  Nowadays,  Education.  Moral  Beauty,  Bancroft. 
Sentiment.  Poem,  Goodbye,  Proud  World.  Metaphors. 
Country  Life.  The  Puritans,  Melioration.  Poem,  The 
Blackbird;  Country  Life  again.  Young  America. 
Letter  to  Aunt  Mary.  Self-Examination:  Natural 
Defects;  Dupe  of  Hope.  Poems:  Goodbye ,  Proud 
World  continued  ;  To-day.  Letter  from  Aunt  Mary: 
Study  of  Nature,  Solitude  and  The  Poets,  Independ 
ent  Thought;  Everetff  The  Age  ;  God's  Bow  in 
the  Clouds.  Letter  to  Aunt  Mary  :  Defence  of  The 
Present  Age  ;  Spirit  of  Liberty  as  against  Mediaeval  \S 
Religion  ;  Franklin  versus  Homer.  Self-Examination 
again  ;  Choice  of  Profession.  Creeds  do  not  satisfy, 
nor  Metaphysics,  nor  Ethics;  Position  of  Man.  Verses, 
Asia.  Letter  to  Plato.  The  Greeks.  Young  America. 
Manners.  Books.  Conclusion 338 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.     (Photogravure}  .      .   Frontispiece 
From  a  miniature  painting,  in  1844^  by  Mrs.  Richard 
Hildreth. 

EMERSON'S  COLLEGE  ROOM  {Hollis  75)  IN  HIS  JUNIOR 
YEAR 4 

From  a  'water-colour  probably  painted  by  him. 

MEMORY  SKETCH   OF   MARTIN  GAY,  BY   EMERSON,   IN 
HIS  JOURNAL  FOR  1821 70 

SKETCHES  BY  EMERSON,  IN  THE  LEAVES  OF  HIS  COLLEGE 
JOURNALS 138 

SOUTH  VIEW  OF  HARVARD  COLLEGE  YARD  FROM  CRAIGIE 
ROAD,  1823 264 

After  an  engraving  In  Harvard  College  Library ',  from 
the  painting  by  Fisher. 


JOURNAL 
COLLEGE 


" '  In  the  morning,  solitude,'  said  Pythagoras.  By 
all  means  give  the  youth  solitude,  that  Nature  may 
speak  to  his  imagination,  as  it  does  never  in  company  ; 
and  for  the  like  reason  give  him  a  chamber  alone ;  — 
and  that  was  the  best  thing  I  found  in  college." 

Emerson's  'Journal, 


"  I  don't  think  he  ever  engaged  in  boys'  plays  ;  not 
because  of  any  physical  inability,  but  simply  because, 
from  his  earliest  years,  he  dwelt  in  a  higher  sphere. 
My   one   deep   impression    is,  that,  from  his   earliest 
childhood,  our  friend  lived  and   moved  and  had  his 
being  in  an  atmosphere  of  letters,  quite  apart  by  him 
self.     I  can  as  little  remember  when  he  was  not  literary 
in  his  pursuits  as  when  I  first  made  his  acquaintance." 
From  a  letter  about  Emerson  by  his  earliest  friend, 
Dr.  William  H,  Fur  ness. 


JOURNAL  I 

"No.  XVII" 

1820 

[THIS  "Blotting-Book"  rather  than  Journal, 
simply  marked  "No.  XVII,"  showing  that  it 
had  predecessors,  though  these  are  gone,  was 
begun  almost  with  the  year  1820.  Emerson  was 
then  a  Junior,  living  in  HoJlis  Hall,  No.  15. 
A  rude  but  faithful  little  picture  in  water-colours 
of  that  room,  apparently  done  by  him,  is  found 
in  "The  Wide  World,"  No.  i.  Its  bare  floor, 
uncurtained  window,  cheap  paper,  and  Spartan 
furniture,  fairly  represent  the  brave  simplicity 
of  those  days.  The  pictures  are  probably  such 
engravings  of  eminent  divines  as  could  be  spared 
from  home, — George  Whitefield,  Dr.  Samuel 
Cooper,  Rev.  Charles  Chauncy,  or  other  lights 
of  that  ministry  for  which  the  boy  was  already 
destined.  His  chum  was  John  Gaillard  Keith 
Gourdin  (pronounced  Godyne) :  yet  strangely  no 
mention  of  him  occurs  in  the  jottings  of  that 
year.  Dr.  Holmes,  in  his  memoir  of  Emerson, 
says:  "The  two  Gourdins,  Robert  and  John 
Gaillard  Keith,  were  dashing  young  fellows,  as 


4  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

I  recollect  them,  belonging  to  Charleston,  South 
Carolina.  The  'Southerners'  were  the  reigning 
college  elegans  of  that  time,  the  merveilleux,  the 
mirliflores,  of  their  day.  Their  swallow-tail  coats 
tapered  to  an  arrow-point  angle,  and  the  prints 
of  their  little  delicate  calf-skin  boots  in  the  snow 
were  objects  of  great  admiration  to  the  village 
boys  of  the  period.  I  cannot  help  wondering 
what  brought  Emerson  and  the  showy,  fascinat 
ing  John  Gourdin  together  as  room-mates." 

Emerson  was  writing  a  dissertation  on  the 
Character  of  Socrates,  for  which  he  received  a 
Bowdoin  Prize.  This,  with  a  later  prize-disser 
tation,  "  On  the  Present  State  of  Ethical  Culture," 
were  recently  printed,  with  a  sketch  of  Emer 
son's  life,  by  Dr.  Edward  Everett  Hale,  in  a 
small  volume  published  in  Boston  by  the  Uni 
tarian  Association.  For  the  latter  essay  Emerson 
only  received  the  second  prize;  his  classmate, 
Josiah  Quincy,  won  the  first.  The  book  is  full 
of  miscellaneous  scraps  of  prose  and  verse  writ 
ten  by  the  boy,  and  also  quoted  from  a  variety 
of  sources,  given  below.  Many  lines  from  Shak- 
speare,  Byron,  Scott,  Dryden,  and  Moore,  clas 
sified  by  the  initial  letter,  are  stored  away  there 
for  use  in  a  game,  now  becoming  obsolete,  called 
"  Capping  verses."  The  following  passages  from 


1820]  SOCRATES  5 

a  study  for  the  paper  on  Socrates,  together  with 
some  "  Phrases  Poetical "  which  the  young  author 
stored  to  adorn  his  sentences  or  enlarge  his  vo 
cabulary,  and  a  song  for  a  Club  festival,  are  all 
that  seem  worth  while  to  print.] 

January ',  1820.    (Age,  16.) 

The  ostentatious  ritual  of  India  which  wor 
shipped  God  by  outraging  nature,  though  soft 
ened  as  it  proceeded  West,  was  still  too  harsh  a 
discipline  for  Athenian  manners  to  undergo. — 
Socrates  had  little  to  do  with  these  and  perhaps 
his  information  on  the  subject  was  very  limited. 
He  was  not  distinguished  for  knowledge  or  gen 
eral  information,  but  for  acquaintance  with  the 
mind  and  its  false  and  fond  propensities,  its 
springs  of  action,  its  assailable  parts ;  in  short, 
his  art  laid  open  its  deepest  recesses,  and  he  han 
dled  it  and  moulded  it  at  will.  Indeed  we  do  not 
have  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  intimately 
versed  in  his  own  national  literature,  Herodotus, 
Homer,  Thucydides,  Pindar,  etc.  —  His  profes 
sion  in  early  life  had  perhaps  imparted  a  little 
of  poetic  inspiration,  but  his  leading  feature 
seems  to  have  been  sagacity  —  little  refinement, 
little  erudition.  His  genius  resembled  ^Esop. 

The  greatness  of  the  philosopher  shines  forth 


6  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

in  its  fullest  lustre  when  we  examine  the  origi 
nality,  the  bold  and  unequalled  sublimity  of  his 
conceptions.  His  powerful  mind  had  surmounted 
the  errours  of  education  and  had  retained  useful 
acquisitions,  whilst  it  discarded  what  was  absurd 
or  unprofitable.  He  studied  Nature  with  a  chas 
tised  enthusiasm,  and  the  constant  activity  of  his 
mind  endowed  him  with  an  energy  of  thought 
little  short  of  inspiration.  When  he  speaks  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  or  when  he  enters 
on  considerations  of  the  attributes  or  nature  of 
the  deity,  he  leaves  the  little  quibblings  of  the 
sophists,  and  his  own  inferiour  strains  of  irony, 
and  his  soul  warms  and  expands  with  his  subject; 
we  forget  that  he  is  man  —  he  seems  seated  like 
Jupiter  Creator  moulding  magnificent  forms  and 
clothing  them  with  beauty  and  grandeur.  .  .  . 

What  is  God?  said  the  disciples,  and  Plato 
replied,  It  is  hard  to  learn  and  impossible  to 
divulge.  .  .  . 

In  Athens,  learning  was  not  loved  for  its  own 
sake,  but  for  sinister  ends.  It  was  prized  as  a 
saleable  commodity.  The  Sophists  bargained 
their  literature,  such  as  it  was,  for  a  prize  which, 
always  exorbitant,  was  regulated  by  the  ability 


i8zo]  PHRASES.    SONG  7 

of  the  disciple.  And  this  must  always  happen 
more  or  less  in  the  infancy  of  letters.  In  a  money- 
making  community  literature  will  soon  thrive. 
It  must  always  follow,  not  precede,  successful 
trade.  The  first  wants  to  be  supplied  are  the  na 
tive  ones  of  animal  subsistence  and  comfort, 
and  when  these  are  more  than  provided  for,  and 
luxury  and  ease  begin  to  look  about  them  for 
new  gratification,  the  mind  then  urges  its  claim 
to  cultivation.  .  .  . 

For  use  —  PHRASES  POETICAL 

rescuing  and  crowning  virtue.  "  coldest  complexion 
of  age."  ill-conditioned,  cameleon.  zeal,  booked  in 
alphabet,  cushioned,  compunction,  beleaguered,  hali- 
dom.  galloping,  whortleberry,  spikenard,  staunch, 
council-chamber,  star-crossed,  till  its  dye  was  doubled 
on  the  crimson  cross,  countless  multitudes,  abut 
ments,  panoply,  sycophant  smile,  kidnapping,  be 
headed,  demigods,  signal  (adjective).  Cleopatra,  am 
bidexter,  register  (verb),  defalcation. 

SONG 

You  may  say  what  you  please  of  the  current  rebellion, 
Tonight  the  Conventicle  drink  to  a  real  one ; f 

i  The  Conventicle  was  a  somewhat  convivial  club,  estab 
lished  in  their  Junior  year  by  some  of  Emerson's  friends, 
Samuel  Alden  being  Bishop,  and  John  B.  Hill,  Parson.  The 
"current  rebellion,"  being  some  outbreak  of  Sophomores, 


8  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

The  annals  of  ages  have  blazoned  its  fame 
And  paeans  are  chanted  to  hallow  its  name. 

Derry  down,  etc. 

Alas  for  the  windows  the  Sophs  have  demolished ! 

Alas  for  the  Laws  that  they  are  not  abolished  ! 

And    that    Dawes    could    abide    the    warm    battle's 

brunt, 

And  the  Government  vote  it  was  Gay,  Lee  and  Blunt. 

Derry  down. 

But  this  shock  of  the  Universe  who  could  control  ? 
Aghast  in  despair  was  each  Sophomore's  soul, 
Save  one,  who  alone  in  his  might  could  stand  forth 
To  grapple  with  elements  —  Mr.  Danforth.1 

Derry  down. 

could  be  looked  down  on  smilingly  by  Juniors  who  had,  the 
year  before,  been  more  or  less  involved  in  a  "real  one" 
celebrated  in  that  epic,  The  Re  be  Iliad,  which  has  been  from 
time  to  time  reprinted;  also  described  in  Josiah  Quincy's 
Figures  of  the  Past. 

i  Of  the  above-mentioned  victims,  Martin  Gay  and  John 
Clarke  Lee,  Sophomores,  were  suspended  ;  and  though  they 
finished  their  college  course,  did  not  receive  their  academic 
degrees  until  1841  and  1842  respectively.  Nathanael  B.  Blunt, 
also  a  Sophomore,  was  dismissed  from  College.  Samuel  Dan 
forth  remained  with  the  class  into  the  Senior  year,  but  did  not 
receive  a  degree.  Rufus  Dawes,  a  Freshman,  seems  to  have 
ended  his  college  career  in  the  Sophomore  year. 


1 8zo]  SONG  9 

Let  the  Earth  and  the  Nations  to  havoc  go  soon, 
And  the  world  tumble  upward  to  mix  with  the  moon ; 
Old  Harvard  shall  smile  at  the  rare  conflagration, 
The  Coventicle  standing  her  pledge  of  salvation. 

Derry  down. 


JOURNAL    II 

THE   WIDE   WORLD,   NO.    i 

1820 

[THE  journals  from  February,  1820,  to  July, 
1824,  bear  the  name  "The  Wide  World,"  and 
extracts  from  all  of  these  are  given  here,  except 
ing  No.  6,  which  is  missing.] 

February ,  1820. 

Mixing  with  the  thousand  pursuits  and  pas 
sions  and  objects  of  the  world  as  personified 
by  Imagination,  is  profitable  and  entertaining. 
These  pages  are  intended  at  their  commence 
ment  to  contain  a  record  of  new  thoughts  (when 
they  occur) ;  for  a  receptacle  of  all  the  old  ideas 
that  partial  but  peculiar  peepings  at  antiquity 
can  furnish  or  furbish;  for  tablet  to  save  the 
wear  and  tear  of  weak  Memory,  and,  in  short, 
for  all  the  various  purposes  and  utility,  real  or 
imaginary,  which  are  usually  comprehended 
under  that  comprehensive  title  Common  Place 
book.  O  ye  witches,  assist  me  !  enliven  or  horrify 
some  midnight  lucubration  or  dream  (whichever 
may  be  found  most  convenient)  to  supply  this 


,820]  DEDICATION  n 

reservoir  when  other  resources  fail.  Pardon  me, 
Fairy  Land  !  rich  region  of  fancy  and  gnomery, 
elvery,  sylphery,  and  Queen  Mab !  pardon  me 
for  presenting  my  first  petition  to  your  enemies, 
but  there  is  probably  one  in  the  chamber  who 
maliciously  influenced  me  to  what  is  irrevo 
cable  ;  pardon  and  favour  me  !  —  And  finally, 
Spirits  of  Earth,  Air,  Fire,  Water,  wherever  ye 
glow,  whatsoever  you  patronize,  whoever  you 
inspire,  hallow,  hallow  this  devoted  paper  — 
Dedicated  and  Signed  January  25,  1820, 

JUNIO. 

After  such  a  dedication,  what  so  proper  to 
begin  with  as  reflections  on  or  from  Edward 
Search? r  It  is  a  fine  idea  which  he  either  intends 

i  The  nom  de  plume  always  used  by  Abraham  Tucker 
(1705—1774),  an  English  scholar,  country  gentleman  and 
magistrate.  His  writings  were  highly  praised  by  Dugald  Stew 
art,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Hazlitt  and  others.  Leigh  Hunt 
called  him  "The  most  agreeable  of  metaphysicians,"  and 
Paley  said,  "I  have  found  in  this  writer  more  original  think 
ing  and  observation  upon  the  several  subjects  he  has  taken  in 
hand  than  in  any  other,  not  to  say  than  all  others  put  to 
gether.  ' '  His  principal  works  are  :  I .  A  Country  Gentle 
man*  s  Advice  to  bis  Son;  2.  Free  will,  Foreknowledge  and 
Fate  ;  3 .  Man  in  Quest  of  Himself,  or  a  Defence  of  the  Indi 
viduality  of  the  Human  Mind  or  Self;  4.  The  Light  of  Na 
ture  Pursued. 


12  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

to  convey,  or  else  the  form  of  expression  unin 
tentionally  did  (pray  let  us  believe  the  latter  for 
the  credit  of  originality)  that  those  parts  of  the 
world  which  man  cannot  or  does  not  inhabit  are 
the  abodes  of  other  orders  of  sentient  being, 
invisible  or  unperceived  by  him.  To  amplify : 
Perhaps  the  inferiour  centre  of  the  earth,  the 
bottomless  depths  and  the  upper  paths  of  Ocean, 
the  lands  circumjacent  to  the  poles,  the  high 
rock  and  clefts  of  the  rock,  are  peopled  by 
higher  beings  than  ourselves;  —  animals  cast  in 
more  refined  mould ;  not  subject  to  the  incon 
veniences,  woes,  etc.,  of  our  species  —  to  whom, 
as  to  us,  this  world  appears  made  only  for 
them,  and  among  whom  our  very  honest  and 
honourable  species  are  classed  only  as  the  high 
est  order  of  brutes  —  perhaps  called  of  the  bee 
kind.  When  Imagination  has  formed  this  class 
of  beings  and  given  them  the  name  of  Supro- 
mines,  it  will  be  perfectly  convenient  to  rise 
again  to  an  order  higher  than  these  last,  hold 
ing  our  self-complacent  friends,  the  Supromines, 
in  as  utter  contempt  as  they  us,  or  as  we  the 
beasts,  and  then  she  may  rise  to  another  and  an 
other,  till,  for  aught  I  know,  she  may  make  this 
world  one  of  the  Mansions  of  heaven,  and  in 
parts  of  it,  though  in  and  around,  yet  thoroughly 


,820]    THE  MOVING  UNIVERSE       13 

unknown  to  us,  the  seraphim  and  cherubim 
may  live  and  enjoy.  I  have  now  already  fallen 
into  an  errour,  which  may  be  a  very  common 
one,  to  hunt  an  idea  down,  when  obtained,  in 
such  a  remorseless  manner  as  to  render  dull 
and  flat  an  idea  originally  plump,  round  and 
shining. 

Perhaps  our  system  and  all  the  planets,  stars, 
we  can  discover,  nay,  the  whole  interminable 
Universe,  is  moving  on,  as  has  been  supposed,  in 
one  grand  circle  round  the  centre  of  light,  and 
since  the  world  began  it  has  never  completed  a 
single  revolution.  It  is  an  improvement  on  the 
grandeur  of  this  supposition  to  suppose  there 
is  a  source  of  light  before  us  and  the  whole  vast 
machinery  has  been  forever  and  is  now  sweep 
ing  forward  in  a  direct  line  through  the  inter 
minable  fields  —  extensions  of  space.  It  is  a 
singular  fact  that  we  cannot  present  to  the  im 
agination  a  longer  space  than  just  so  much  of 
the  world  as  is  bounded  by  the  visible  horizon ; 
so  that,  even  in  this  stretching  of  thought  to 
comprehend  the  broad  path  lengthening  itself 
and  widening  to  receive  the  rolling  Universe, 
stern  necessity  bounds  us  to  a  little  extent  of  a 
few  miles  only.  But  what  matters  it?  we  can 
talk  and  write  and  think  it  out.  .  .  Chateau- 


14  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

briand's  "the  universe  is  the  imagination  of  the 
deity  made  manifest "  is  worthy  him. 

"Mount  on  thy  own  path  to  Fame,  nor 
swerve  for  man  or  more  than  man  "  says  Cas- 
wallon  (in  "  Samor "),'  and  it  will  be  a  fine 
motto  by  striking  out  the  last  four  words. 

INDEPENDENCE;  PULPIT  ELOQUENCE 

Let  us  suppose  a  pulpit  Orator  to  whom  the 
path  of  his  profession  is  yet  untried,  but  whose 
talents  are  good  and  feelings  strong,  and  his  in 
dependence,  as  a  man,  in  opinion  and  action  is 
established ;  let  him  ascend  the  pulpit  for  the 
first  time,  not  to  please  or  displease  the  multi 
tude,  but  to  expound  to  them  the  words  of  the 
book  and  to  waft  their  minds  and  devotions  to 
heaven.  Let  him  come  to  them  in  solemnity 
and  strength,  and  when  he  speaks  he  will  claim 
attention  with  an  interesting  figure  and  an  in 
terested  face.  To  expand  their  views  of  the  sub 
lime  doctrines  of  the  religion,  he  may  embrace 
the  universe  and  bring  down  the  stars  from 
their  courses  to  do  homage  to  their  Creator. 

I  Samor,  Lord  of  the  Bright  City,  an  Heroic  Poem,  by 
the  Rev.  Henry  Hunt  Milman,  M.  A.,  New  York  (reprint), 
C.  Wiley  &  Co.,  1818. 


i82o]        PULPIT  ELOQUENCE  15 

Here  is  a  fountain  which  cannot  fail  them. 
Wise  Christian  orators  have  often  and  profit 
ably  magnified  the  inconceivable  power  of  the 
Creator  as  manifested  in  his  works,  and  thus 
elevated  and  sobered  the  mind  of  the  people 
and  gradually  drawn  them  off  from  the  world 
they  have  left  by  the  animating  ideas  of  Majesty, 
Beauty,  Wonder,  which  these  considerations  be 
stow.  Then  when  life  and  its  frivolities  is  fastly 
flowing  away  from  before  them,  and  the  spirit 
is  absorbed  in  the  play  of  its  mightiest  energies, 
and  their  eyes  are  on  him  and  their  hearts  are 
in  heaven,  then  let  him  discharge  his  fearful 
duty,  then  let  him  unfold  the  stupendous  de 
signs  of  celestial  wisdom,  and  whilst  admiration 
is  speechless,  let  him  minister  to  their  unearthly 
wants,  and  let  the  ambassador  of  the  Most  High 
prove  himself  worthy  of  his  tremendous  voca 
tion.  Let  him  gain  the  tremendous  eloquence 
which  stirs  men's  souls,  which  turns  the  world 
upside  down,  but  which  loses  all  its  filth  and 
retains  all  its  grandeur  when  consecrated  to  God. 
When  a  congregation  are  assembled  together  to 
hear  such  an  apostle,  you  may  look  round  and 
you  will  see  the  faces  of  men  bent  forward  in 
the  earnestness  of  expectation,  and  in  this  desir 
able  frame  of  mind  the  preacher  may  lead  them 


16  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

whithersoever  he  will ;  they  have  yielded  up 
their  prejudices  to  the  eloquence  of  the  lips 
which  the  archangel  hath  purified  and  hallowed 
with  fire,  and  this  first  sacrifice  is  the  sin-offer 
ing  which  cleanseth  them. 

WEBSTER 

February  jtb. 

Mr.  K.,  a  lawyer  of  Boston,  gave  a  fine  char 
acter  of  a  distinguished  individual  in  private 
conversation,  which  in  part  I  shall  set  down. 
"Webster  is  a  rather  large  man,  about  five  feet, 
seven,  or  nine,  in  height,  and  thirty-nine  or  forty 
years  old  —  he  has  a  long  head,  very  large  black 
eyes,  bushy  eyebrows,  a  commanding  expres 
sion, —  and  his  hair  is  coal-black,  and  coarse  as 
a  crow's  nest.  His  voice  is  sepulchral  —  there  is 
not  the  least  variety  or  the  least  harmony  of 
tone  —  it  commands,  it  fills,  it  echoes,  but  is  harsh 
and  discordant.  —  He  possesses  an  admirable 
readiness,  a  fine  memory  and  a  faculty  of  perfect 
abstraction,  an  unparallelled  impudence  and  a 
tremendous  power  of  concentration  —  he  brings 
all  that  he  has  ever  heard,  read  or  seen  to  bear 
on  the  case  in  question.  He  growls  along  the  bar 
to  see  who  will  run,  and  if  nobody  runs  he  WILL 
fight.  He  knows  his  strength,  has  a  perfect  con- 


i82o]  WEBSTER  17 

fidence  in  his  own  powers,  and  is  distinguished  by 
a  spirit  of  fixed  determination;  he  marks  his  path 
out,  and  will  cut  off  fifty  heads  rather  than  turn 
out  of  it;  but  is  generous  and  free  from  malice, 
and  will  never  move  a  step  to  make  a  severe  re 
mark.  His  genius  is  such  that,  if  he  descends  to 
be  pathetic,  he  becomes  ridiculous.  He  has  no 
wit  and  never  laughs,  though  he  is  very  shrewd 
and  sarcastic,  and  sometimes  sets  the  whole  court 
in  a  roar  by  the  singularity  or  pointedness  of  a 
remark.  His  imagination  is  what  the  light  of  a 
furnace  is  to  its  heat,  a  necessary  attendant  —  no 
thing  sparkling  or  agreeable,  but  dreadful  and 

gloomy." This  is  the  finest  character  I  have 

ever  heard  pourtray  ed,  and  very  truly  drawn,  with 
little  or  no  exaggeration.  With  respect  to  the 
cause  of  a  town's  condition  of  bad  society  he  said 
well,  "There  is  stuff  to  make  good  society,  but 
they  are  discordant  atoms,"  and  regarding  the 
contrasting  and  comparing  the  worthy  and  great 
dead,  —  "you  may  not  tell  a  man  'your  neigh 
bor's  house  is  higher  than  yours/  but  you  may 
measure  gravestones  and  see  which  is  the  tall 


est." 


CAMBRIDGE,  March  nth,  1820. 
Thus  long  I   have  been  in  Cambridge  this 
term  (three  or  four  weeks)  and  have  not  before 


1 8  JOURNAL  [AcEi6 

this  moment  paid  my  devoirs  to  the  Gnomes  to 
whom  I  dedicated  this  quaint  and  heterogene 
ous  manuscript.  Is  it  because  matter  has  been 
wanting  ?  —  no  —  I  have  written  much  elsewhere 
in  prose,  poetry,  and  miscellany  —  let  me  put 
the  most  favourable  construction  on  the  case  and 
say  that  I  have  been  better  employed.  Beside 
considerable  attention,  however  unsuccessful,  to 
college  studies,  I  have  finished  Bisset's  life  of 
Burke,  as  well  as  Burke's  "  Regicide  Peace,"  to 
gether  with  considerable  variety  of  desultory 
reading,  generally  speaking,  highly  entertaining 
and  instructive.  The  Pythologian  poem  J  does 
not  proceed  very  rapidly,  though  I  have  experi 
enced  some  poetic  moments.  Could  I  seat  my 
self  in  the  alcove  of  one  of  those  public  libraries 
which  human  pride  and  literary  rivalship  have 
made  costly,  splendid  and  magnificent,  it  would 
indeed  be  an  enviable  situation.  I  would  plunge 
into  the  classic  lore  of  chivalrous  story  and  of 
the  fairy-land  bards,  and  unclosing  the  ponder 
ous  volumes  of  the  firmest  believers  in  magic 
and  in  the  potency  of  consecrated  crosier  or 
elfin  ring,  I  would  let  my  soul  sail  away  delighted 
into  their  wildest  phantasies.  Pendragon  is  rising 

i   A  poem  written  for  another  Club,  which  will  be  later 
mentioned. 


i82o]  IMAGININGS  19 

before  my  fancy,  and  has  given  me  permission 
to  wander  in  his  walks  of  Fairy-land  and  to  pre 
sent  myself  at  the  bower  of  Gloriana.  I  stand  in 
the  fair  assembly  of  the  chosen,  the  brave  and 
the  beautiful ;  honour  and  virtue,  courage  and 
delicacy  are  mingling  in  magnificent  joy.  Un 
stained  knighthood  is  sheathing  the  successful 
blade  in  the  presence  of  unstained  chastity.  And 
the  festal  jubilee  of  Fairy-land  is  announced  by 
the  tinkling  of  its  silver  bells.  The  halls  are  full 
of  gorgeous  splendour  and  the  groves  are  joy 
ous  with  light  and  beauty.  The  birds  partake  and 
magnify  the  happiness  of  the  green-wood  shades 
and  the  music  of  the  harp  comes  swelling  on  the 
gay  breezes.  Or  other  views  more  real,  scarcely 
less  beautiful,  should  attract,  enchain  me.  All 
the  stores  of  Grecian  and  Roman  literature  may 
be  unlocked  and  fully  displayed  —  or,  with  the 
Indian  enchanters,  send  my  soul  up  to  wander 
among  the  stars  till  "  the  twilight  of  the  gods." 

April  id. 

Spring  has  returned  and  has  begun  to  unfold 
her  beautiful  array,  to  throw  herself  on  wild- 
flower  couches,  to  walk  abroad  on  the  hills  and 
summon  her  songsters  to  do  her  sweet  homage. 
The  Muses  have  issued  from  the  library  and 


20  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

costly  winter  dwelling  of  their  votaries,  and  are 
gone  up  to  build  their  bowers  on  Parnassus,  and 
to  melt  their  ice-bound  fountains.  Castalia  is 
flowing  rapturously  and  lifting  her  foam  on  high. 
The  hunter  and  the  shepherd  are  abroad  on  the 
rock  and  the  vallies  echo  to  the  merry,  merry 
horn.  The  Poet,  of  course,  is  wandering,  while 
Nature's  thousand  melodies  are  warbling  to  him. 
This  soft  bewitching  luxury  of  vernal  gales  and 
accompanying  beauty  overwhelms.  It  pro 
duces  a  lassitude  which  is  full  of  mental  enjoy 
ment  and  which  we  would  not  exchange  for 
more  vigorous  pleasure.  Although  so  long  as 
the  spell  endures,  little  or  nothing  is  accom 
plished,  nevertheless,  I  believe  it  operates  to 
divest  the  mind  of  old  and  worn-out  contem 
plations  and  bestows  new  freshness  upon  life, 
and  leaves  behind  it  imaginations  of  enchant 
ment  for  the  mind  to  mould  into  splendid  forms 
and  gorgeous  fancies  which  shall  long  continue 
to  fascinate,  after  the  physical  phenomena  which 
woke  them  have  ceased  to  create  delight. 

April  4/£. 

Judging  from  opportunity  enjoyed,  I  ought 
to  have  this  evening  a  flow  of  thought,  rich, 
abundant  and  deep;  after  having  heard  Mr. 


i82o]        EVERETT'S  LECTURE  21 

Everett  deliver  his  Introductory  Lecture,  in 
length  one  and  one  half  hour,  having  read  much 
and  profitably  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  and 
lastly  having  heard  Dr.  Warren's  introductory 
lecture  to  anatomy,  —  all  in  the  compass  of  a 
day  l  —  and  the  mind  possessing  a  temperament 
well  adapted  to  receive  with  calm  attention  what 
was  offered.  Shall  endeavor  to  record  promiscu 
ously  received  ideas :  —  Though  the  literature 
of  Greece  gives  us  sufficient  information  with 
regard  to  later  periods  of  their  commonwealth,  as 
we  go  back,  before  the  light  of  tradition  comes 
in,  the  veil  drops.  "  All  tends  to  the  mysterious 

i  Edward  Everett  was  appointed  in  1815,  first  to  fill  the 
chair  of  Greek  Literature  just  founded  anonymously  by  Samuel 
Eliot.  He  went  to  Europe  to  fit  himself  for  it.  Many  years 
later,  Mr.  Emerson  wrote,  "  Germany  had  created  criticism  in 
vain  for  us  until  1820,  when  Edward  Everett  returned  from 
his  five  years  in  Europe  and  brought  to  Cambridge  his  rich 
results,  which  no  one  was  so  fitted  by  natural  grace  and  the 
splendor  of  his  rhetoric  to  introduce  and  recommend."  (See 
long  passage  in  his  praise  in  "  Historic  Notes  of  Life  and  Let 
ters  in  New  England  "  in  Lecture s  and  Biographical  Sketches, 
vol.  x,  Emerson's  Works.) 

Dr.  John  Collins  Warren,  second  in  a  line  of  eminent  sur 
geons  which  still  holds  high  place  in  Boston,  and  founder  of 
the  Warren  Museum,  after  six  years'  service  as  adjunct  pro 
fessor,  had  succeeded  his  father  as  Hersey  Professor  of  Anatomy 
and  Surgery. 


22  JOURNAL  [Ace  16 

East."  .  .  .  From  the  time  of  the  first  disper 
sion  of  the  human  family  to  the  time  of  Grecian 
rise,  everything  in  the  history  of  man  is  obscure, 
and  we  think  ourselves  sufficiently  fortunate  "if 
we  can  write  in  broad  lines  the  fate  of  a  dynasty," 
though  we  know  nothing  of  the  individuals  who 
composed  it.  The  cause  is  the  inefficiency  and 
uncertainty  of  tradition  in  those  early  and  igno 
rant  times  when  the  whole  history  of  a  tribe  was 
lodged  in  the  head  of  its  patriarch,  and  in  his 
death  their  history  was  lost.  But  even  after  the 
invention  of  letters,  much,  very  much,  has  never 
reached  us.  This  we  need  not  regret.  What  was 
worth  knowing  was  transmitted  to  posterity,  the 
rest  buried  in  deserved  forgetfulness.    Every 
thing  was    handed  down   which  ought  to   be 
handed  down.  The  Phenicians  gave  the  Greeks 
their  Alphabet,  yet  not  a  line  of  all  which  they 
wrote  has  come  down,  while  their  pupils  have 
built  themselves  an  imperishable  monument  of 
fame. 

•         ••••••• 

I  here  make  a  resolution  to  make  myself 
acquainted  with  the  Greek  language  and  anti 
quities  and  history  with  long  and  serious  atten 
tion  and  study ;  (always  with  the  assistance  of 
circumstances.)  To  which  end  I  hereby  dedicate 


i82o]  VIRGILIAN  LOT  23 

and  devote  to  the  down-putting  of  sentences 
quoted  or  original,  which  regard  Greece,  his 
torical,  poetical  and  critical,  page  47  of  this  time- 
honored  register.  By  the  way,  I  devote  page  45 
to  the  notation  of  Inquirenda  and  of  books  to 

be  sought. 

Signed,  JUNIO. 

April  %otb. 

.  .  .  Ethereal  beings  to  whom  I  dedicated 
the  pages  of  my  "  Wide  World,"  do  not,  I  entreat 
you,  neglect  it;  when  I  sleep  waken  me;  when 
I  weary  animate !  Wander  after  moonbeams, 
fairies  !  but  bring  them  home  here.  Indeed,  you 
cannot  imagine  how  it  would  gratify  me  to  wake 
up  from  an  accursed  Enfield  lesson  and  find  a 
page  written  in  characters  of  light  by  a  moon 
beam  of  Queen  Mab  !  I  will  give  you  a  subject 
— a  thousand  if  you  wish ;  —  for  instance  "  Pen- 
dragon/'  your  own  Pendragon;  record  his  life 
and  his  glories.  "  Prince  Arthur  "  if  it  is  not  too 
trite;  or  "the  Universe,"  or  a  broom-stick; 
either  or  all  of  these,  or  fifty  thousand  more. 

June  "jib. 

A  very  singular  chance  led  me  to  derive  very 
sensible  answers  to  the  two  questions  I  pro- 


24  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

posed  to  Virgil.1    For  the  first  I  opened  to  the 
line  — 

O  crudelis  Alexi,  nihil  mea  carmina  curas.2 

For    the  other  I  opened    to  a  line,  Dryden's 
translation  of  which  is  — 

u  Go,  let  the  gods  and  temples  claim  thy  care." 

Have  been  of  late  reading  patches  of  Barrow 
and  Ben  Jonson  ;  and  what  the  object  —  not 
curiosity?  no  —  nor  expectation  of  edification 
intellectual  or  moral  —  but  merely  because  they 
are  authors  where  vigorous  phrases  and  quaint, 
peculiar  words  and  expressions  may  be  sought 
and  found,  the  better  "  to  rattle  out  the  battle  of 
my  thoughts."  I  shall  now  set  myself  to  give  a 
good  sentence  of  Barrow's  (the  whole  beauty  of 
which  he  has  impaired  by  a  blundering  colloca 
tion)  in  purer  and  more  fashionable  English;  — 
Obvious  manifestations  may  be  sometimes  seen 

1  This  passage  refers  to  his  consulting  the  Virgilianee  Sortes, 
that  is,  opening  Virgil  at  random  and  taking  the  first  line  the 
eye  lighted  on  for  an  oracle.   On  the  first  occasion,  he  was  a 
competitor  for  a  college   prize  for  verse.    When  the  prizes 
were  announced,  he  had  won  the  second.   It  is  probable  that 
the  other  question  he  propounded  was  with  regard  to  his  voca 
tion  in  life. 

2  Virgil,  Eclogue  II. 


i820]          STYLE  OF  BARROW  25 

of  the  ruling  government  of  God.  Sometimes  in 
the  career  of  triumphant  guilt  when  things  have 
come  to  such  a  pass  that  iniquity  and  outrage 
do  exceedingly  prevail,  so  that  the  life  of  the 
offender  becomes  intolerably  grievous,  a  change 
comes  upon  the  state  of  things,  however  stable 
and  enduring  in  appearance,  a  revolution  in  a 
manner  sudden  and  strange,  and  flowing  from 
causes  mean  and  unworthy,  which  overturneth 
the  towering  fabric  of  fortune  and  reduces  its 
gigantic  dimensions;  and  no  strugglings  of 
might,  no  fetches  of  policy,  no  circumspection 
or  industry  of  man  availing  to  uphold  it:  there 
is  outstretched  an  invisible  hand  checking  all 
such  force  and  crossing  all  such  devices — a 
stone  cut  out  of  the  mountain  without  hands 
and  breaking  to  pieces  the  iron  and  the  brass 
and  the  clay  and  [the]  silver  and  the  gold. — 
In  looking  over  the  sentence  however,  though 
the  grand  outline  of  the  whole  was  originally 
the  Rev.  Isaac  Barrow's,  yet  we  very  self-com- 
placently  confess  that  great  alterations  have  ren 
dered  it  editorially  Mr.  Ralph  Emerson's,  and 
I  intend  to  make  use  of  it  hereafter,  after  an 
other  new  modelling,  for  it  is  still  very  suscepti 
ble  of  improvement. 


26  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

June  iqth. 

When  those  magnificent  masses  of  vapour 
which  load  our  horizon  are  breaking  away,  dis 
closing  fields  of  blue  atmosphere,  there  is  an 
exhilaration  awakened  in  the  system  of  a  sus 
ceptible  man  which  so  invigorates  the  energies 
of  mind,  and  displays  to  himself  such  manifold 
power  and  joy  superiour  to  other  existences,  that 
he  will  triumph  and  exult  that  he  is  a  man.  .  .  . 
We  feel  at  these  times  that  eternal  analogy  which 
subsists  between  the  external  changes  of  nature, 
and  scenes  of  good  and  ill  that  chequer  human 
life.  Joy  cometh,  but  is  speedily  supplanted  by 
grief,  and  we  look  at  the  approach  of  transient 
verities  like  the  mists  of  the  morning,  fearful 
and  many,  but  the  fairies  are  in  them  and  White 
Ladies  beckoning. 

August  %th. 

I  have  been  reading  the  Novum  Organum. 
Lord  Bacon  is  indeed  a  wonderful  writer ;  he 
condenses  an  unrivaled  degree  of  matter  in  one 
paragraph.  He  never  suffers  himself  "to  swerve 
from  the  direct  forthright,"  or  to  babble  or  speak 
unguardedly  on  his  proper  topic,  and  withal 
writes  with  more  melody  and  rich  cadence  than 
any  writer  (I  had  almost  said,  of  England)  on  a 


1 8zo]  BACON  27 

similar  subject.  Although  I  have  quoted  in  my 
cc  Universe  "  of  composition  (by  which  presump 
tuous  term  I  beg  leave  to  remind  myself  that 
nothing  was  meant  but  to  express  wideness  and 
variety  of  range),  yet  I  will  add  here  a  fine  little 
sentence  from  the  thirtieth  section  of  the  sec 
ond  volume  of  the  Novum  Organum.  Speaking 
of  bodies  composed  of  two  different  species  of 
things,  he  says :  "  but  these  instances  may  be 
reckoned  of  the  singular  or  heteroclite  kind, 
as  being  rare  and  extraordinary  in  the  universe ; 
yet  for  their  dignity  they  ought  to  be  separately 
placed  and  treated.  For  they  excellently  indi 
cate  the  composition  and  structure  of  things ; 
and  suggest  the  cause  of  the  number  of  the 
ordinary  species  of  the  universe ;  and  lead  the 
understanding  from  that  which  is,  to  that  which 
may  be."  There  is  nothing  in  this  sentence 
which  should  cause  it  to  be  quoted  more  than 
another.  It  does  not  stand  out  from  the  rest; 
but  it  struck  me  accidentally  as  a  very  different 
sentence  from  those  similarly  constructed  in 
ordinary  writers.  For  instance,  in  the  last  three 
clauses  (beginning  cc  For  they  excellently  ")  it  is 
common  to  see  an  author  construct  a  fine  sen 
tence  in  this  way,  with  idle  repetitions  of  the 
same  idea,  embellished  a  little  for  the  sake  of 


28  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

shrouding  the  deception.  In  this,  they  all  con 
vey  ideas  determinate,  but  widely  different  and 
all  beautiful  and  intelligent.  —  But,  says  Sterne, 
"the  cant  of  criticism  is  the  most  provoking." 

There  is  a  strange  face  in  the  Freshman  class 
whom  I  should  like  to  know  very  much.  He 
has  a  great  deal  of  character  in  his  features  and 
should  be  a  fast  friend  or  bitter  enemy.  His 
name  is I  shall  endeavour  to  become  ac 
quainted  with  him  and  wish,  if  possible,  that  I 
might  be  able  to  recall  at  a  future  period  the  sin 
gular  sensations  which  his  presence  produced  at 
this.1 

I  The  name  is  given,  and  later  scratched  out.  The  person 
referred  to  was  Martin  Gay  of  Hingham,  who,  born  in  the 
same  year  with  Emerson,  came  to  college  two  years  later. 
The  entries  in  prose  and  verse  concerning  this  boy,  which 
follow  in  Emerson's  journals  for  the  Junior  and  Senior  years, 
show  how  strong  the  fascination  was,  for  there  is  a  remarkable 
absence  of  mention  of  other  students.  It  would  seem  that  this 
was  an  imaginary  friendship.  There  is  no  evidence  that  the 
elder  student  ever  brought  himself  to  risk  disenchantment  by 
active  advances,  and  the  younger  boy  could  not  understand 
why  he  was  watched  and  even  followed  afar  by  this  strange 
upper-class  man.  It  would  have  been  not  unnatural  that  he 
should  have  resented  it,  being  of  an  entirely  different  temper 
ament,  and  called  "Cool  Gay  "  by  his  classmates.  His  active 
interests  are  said  to  have  been  scientific  experiments  and  the 


1 8zo]  ART  29 

When  we  see  an  exquisite  specimen  of  paint 
ing — whence  does  the  pleasure  we  experience 
arise  ?  From  the  resemblance^  it  is  immediately 
answered,  to  the  works  of  nature.  It  is  granted 
that  this  is  in  part  the  cause,  but  it  can't  explain 
the  whole  pleasure  we  enjoy;  for  we  see  more 
perfect  resemblances  (as  a  stone  apple  or  fruit) 
without  this  pleasure.  No,  it  arises  from  the 
power  which  we  immediately  recollect  to  be 
necessary  to  the  creation  of  the  painting. 

College  Military  Company.  Gay  studied  medicine  and  took 
his  doctor's  degree  in  1826.  He  practised  a  short  time  in 
New  Bedford,  then  for  the  rest  of  his  life  in  Boston.  He  was 
modest  and  faithful,  with  a  high  sense  of  honour.  His  practice 
grew  slowly  but  steadily,  and  he  was  much  beloved.  His 
interests  were  scientific,  chemistry  especially.  He  was  a  mem 
ber  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts  and  Sciences  and  cura 
tor  of  the  department  of  Mineralogy  in  the  Boston  Natural 
History  Society.  As  an  analytical  chemist  he  acquired  a  high 
reputation,  and  it  is  said  that  his  testimony  in  the  courts  in 
cases  of  death  by  poisoning  "  marked  an  era  in  the  history  of 
medical  jurisprudence  in  this  country."  Yet  although  Dr.  Gay 
lived  within  twenty  miles  of  Emerson,  and  was  a  valued  friend 
of  his  wife's  brother,  Dr.  Charles  T.  Jackson,  whose  claim  to 
the  discovery  of  anaesthesia  by  ether  in  surgical  operations  he 
loyally  defended,  it  does  not  appear  that  Emerson  ever  really 
knew  him;  yet  he  always  was  interested  to  hear  of  him,  and 
was  grieved  at  his  untimely  death  in  1850. 


30  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

August  list. 

In  the  H  [arvard]  C[ollege]  Athenaeum  I  en 
joyed  a  very  pleasant  hour  reading  the  life  of 
Marlborough  in  the  "  Quarterly  Review."  I  was 
a  little  troubled  there  by  vexatious  trains  of 
thought;  but  once  found  myself  stopping  en 
tirely  from  my  reading  and  occupied  in  throw 
ing  guesses  into  futurity  while  I  was  asking 
myself  if,  when,  ten  or  a  dozen  years  hence,  I 
am  gone  far  on  the  bitter,  perplexing  roads  of 
life,  when  I  shall  then  recollect  these  moments, 
now  thought  so  miserable,  shall  I  not  fervently 
wish  the  possibility  of  their  return,  and  to  find 
myself  again  thrown  awkwardly  on  the  tilted 
chair  in  the  Athenaeum  study  with  my  book  in 
my  hand;  the  snuffers  and  lamps  and  shelves 
around;  and  Motte1  coughing  over  his  news 
paper  near  me,  and  ready  myself  to  saunter  out 
into  gaiety  and  Commons  when  that  variously- 
meaning  bell  shall  lift  up  his  tongue. 

"Sed  fugit  interea,  fugit  irreparabile  tempus." 

August  23,  1820. 
To-morrow  finishes  the  Junior  year.  As  it  is 

i  Emerson's  classmate,  Mellish  Irving  Motte,  from  Charles 
ton,  S.  C.  He  was  minister  of  the  South  Congregational 
Church  in  Boston  from  1828  to  1842. 


,820]  REVIEW  31 

time  to  close  our  accounts,  we  will  conclude 
likewise  this  book  which  has  been  formed  from 
the  meditations  and  fancies  which  have  sprinkled 
the  miscellany-corner  of  my  mind  for  two  terms 
past.  It  was  begun  in  the  winter  vacation.  I 
think  it  has  been  an  improving  employment 
decidedly.  It  has  not  encroached  upon  other 
occupations  and  has  afforded  seasonable  aid 
at  various  times  to  enlarge  or  enliven  scanty 
themes,  etc.  Nor  has  it  monopolized  the  ener 
gies  of  composition  for  literary  exercises.  Whilst 
I  have  written  in  it,  I  have  begun  and  completed 
my  Pythologian  Poem  of  260  lines,1  —  and 
my  Dissertation  on  the  Character  of  Socrates. 
It  has  prevented  the  ennui  of  many  an  idle 
moment  and  has  perhaps  enriched  my  stock  of 
language  for  future  exertions.  Much  of  it  has 
been  written  with  a  view  to  their  preservation, 
as  hints  for  a  peculiar  pursuit  at  the  distance  of 
years.  Little  or  none  of  it  was  elaborate — its 
office  was  to  be  a  hasty,  sketchy  composition, 
containing  at  times  elements  of  graver  order. 

I  Emerson  was  secretary  of  a  small  literary  (and,  when 
fines  permitted,  mildly  convivial, )  club  of  this  name,  and  on 
this  occasion  had  written  in  "heroics"  a  didactic  poem  on 
Improvement.  The  record-book  of  the  Club  was  found  among 
his  papers,  and  will  be  given  to  the  College  library.  Some 
extracts  from  this  book  will  be  given  later  in  this  volume. 


32  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

So  fare  ye  well,  gay  Powers  and  Princedoms ! 
To  you  the  sheets  were  inscribed.  Light  thanks 
for  your  tutelary  smiles.  Grim  witches  from 
Valhalla,  and  courteous  dames  from  Faery-land, 
whose  protection  was  implored  and  whose  dreams 
were  invoked  to  furnish  forth  the  scroll,  adieu 
to  you  all; — you  have  the  laughing  poet's  beni- 
son  and  malison,  his  wish  and  his  forgetfulness. 
Abandoning  your  allegiance,  he  throws  you  to 
the  winds,  recklessly  defying  your  malice  and 
fun.  Pinch  the  red  nose;  lead  him  astray  after 
Will-o'-the-wisp  over  wilderness  and  fen ;  fright 
him  with  ghastly  hobgoblins — wreak  your  ven 
geance  as  you  will  —  He  gives  you  free  leave 
on  this  sole  condition, —  if  you  can. 

JUNIO. 

August  24,  1820. 
Books  to  be  Sought 

Wordsworth's  Recluse;  Quarterly  Review, 
September,  1819;  Liber  VIII,  of  Buchanan's 
Scotland — Wallace;  Spenser's  View  of  the  State 
of  Ireland;  Camden's  Annals  of  Queen  Eliza 
beth ;  Rennet's  Life  and  Characters  of  Greek 
Poets;  Hody,  De  Illustribus  Graecis ;  Middle- 
ton's  Cicero  ;  Burton's  Melancholy ;  Barrow's 
Sermons;  Hobbes'  Leviathan  ;  Joinville's  Life 


i8i9]    PYTHOLOGIAN  SOCIETY        33 

of  St.  Louis;  Froissart's  History  of  England; 
Chaucer's  Works;  Hayle'&Dufionairc;  Corinne  ; 
Massinger's  Plays ;  Fletcher's  do ;  Bentley's 
Phalaris;  Peter's  Letters;  Letters  from  Eastern 
States;  W 'aver "ley ;  Cogan  On  the  Passions;  Sir 
Charles  Grandison. 

Inquirenda 

Extent,  history  of  the  troubadours.  —  Pen- 
dragon.  —  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's  conceipt  of  the 
"  Faery  Queen." — Valhalla.  —  Archipelago.  — 
Paestum.  —  Taillefer  at  the  battle  of  Hastings. 
—  Illumination  (graphic).  —  Griselda  of  Boc- 
cace.  —  Walter  Raleigh's  account  of  Theories 
of  Paradise.  —  Water-spouts.1 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  RECORD    OF    THE    (PY 
THOLOGIAN?)  SOCIETY, 
of  which  Emerson  was  for  a  time  Secretary. 

1819-1821 

[Although  in  the  Secretary's  book  no  name  is 
given  to  the  Society,  and  in  the  record  of  the 

i  A  book-club  was  organized  by  Emerson  and  some  of  his 
college  friends.  They  subscribed  for  some  of  the  English  re 
views  and  for  the  North  American,  then  new.  They  also 
bought  new  poems  and  fiction,  especially  Scott's  novels  ;  and 
often  read  them  aloud  at  their  meetings.  Of  course,  most  of 
the  serious  reading  mentioned  in  the  journals,  while  in  Cam 
bridge,  was  done  in  the  College  library. 


34  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

meeting  of  June  13,  1819,  the  committee  ap 
pointed  to  consider  the  subject  reported  that  "it 
is  best  that  the  society  should  have  no  name," 
and  that  report  was  accepted,  it  there  appears 
that  Emerson  was  appointed  to  prepare  a  poem 
for  the  celebration  of  the  first  anniversary  of  the 
Society,  and  read  one,  as  the  accompanying  ex 
tracts  show.  In  the  journal  covering  this  period, 
however,  he  twice  mentions  the  writing  of  his 
"PythologianPoem."] 

Several  members  of  the  Sophomore  class  met 
at  Gourdin's  room,1  April  24th,  1819,  for  the 
purpose  of  forming  a  society,  for  exercise  in  com 
position  and  discussion  :  Present,  Blood,  Emer 
son,  Frye,  Gourdin  2d,  Hill  2d,2  James,  Reed, 
and  Wood.  The  question,  whether  it  be  expe 
dient  to  form  a  society  for  this  purpose,  was 
proposed  and  debated.  Voted  unanimously,  to 
form  a  society,  for  these  purposes  ;  Hill  2d, 
Wood  and  Emerson,  were  chosen  to  prepare 
regulations  and  laws,  to  be  presented  at  the  next 
meeting.  They  adjourned  to  meet  at  Frye's 
room  on  the  second  of  May,  at  half-past  7,  p.  M. 

1  Also  Emerson's  room. 

2  There  were  two  Gourdins  and  two  Hills,  brothers,  in 
the  class. 


i8i9]    PYTHOLOGIAN   SOCIETY        35 


LAWS  AND  REGULATIONS  OF  THE 


The  great  design  of  public  education  is  to 
qualify  men  for  usefulness  in  active  life,  and  the 
principal  arts  by  which  we  can  be  useful  are 
those  of  writing  and  speaking. 

We  are  told  by  those  from  whose  decision 
there  is  no  appeal  that  by  constant,  unwearied 
practice  only  can  facility  and  excellence  in  these 
arts  be  attained.  We  believe  that  societies,  when 
well  regulated,  and  supported  with  spirit,  are 
of  great  use  towards  acquiring  these  important 
qualifications.  We  therefore  agree  to  form  our 
selves  into  a  society  for  writing  and  extempo 
raneous  speaking,  to  be  called 

We  engage  to  endeavour  to  promote  the  inter 
ests  of  the  society  and  the  mutual  improvement 
of  each  other  by  freely  receiving  and  impart 
ing  instructions,  and  we  pledge  our  honour  to 
be  governed  by  the  following  laws  and  regula 
tions  : ' — 

Article  i.  The  society  shall  consist  of  no  more 
than  twelve  members,  and  no  person  shall  be 

i  The  more  important  of  these,  submitted  by  the  committee 
at  the  meeting  of  May  2,  and  adopted  and  signed  by  the 
members,  are  here  given. 


36  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

admitted  without  the  consent  of  every  mem 
ber. 

Article  4.  Six  members  shall  read  composi 
tions  at  every  regular  meeting,  upon  subjects 
given  out  by  the  society,  as  they  are  called 
upon  by  the  Moderator,  and  six  shall  discuss 
subjects  proposed  at  the  preceding  meeting, 
each  upon  the  subject  assigned  him  by  the  so 
ciety. 

Article  5.  Two  members  shall  be  chosen  from 
those  who  read  compositions  to  decide  the  ques 
tion,  and,  in  case  of  disagreement,  the  Modera 
tor  shall  decide  it. 

Article  6.  Four  members  shall  be  chosen  by 
the  society  to  read  essays  before  the  society  upon 
subjects  of  their  own  choice,  two  at  the  meeting 
nearest  the  middle  of  each  term  to  perform  at 
the  meeting  nearest  the  middle  of  the  next  term, 
and  two  at  the  end  of  each  term  to  perform  at 
the  last  meeting  of  the  succeeding  term.  Any 
member  neglecting  or  refusing  to  read  a  com 
position  or  discuss,  shall  be  fined  twelve  and 
one-half  cents ;  for  neglecting  to  read  an  essay, 
fifty  cents.  Disorderly  or  disrespectful  conduct 
shall  subject  the  offender  to  a  fine  of  six  and 
one-quarter  cents;  non-attendance  shall  be  fined 
twelve  and  one-half  cents.  Any  member  coming 


i8i9]    PYTHOLOGIAN    SOCIETY        37 

after  the  meeting  shall  be  fined  six  and  one- 
quarter  cents.1 

*GEO.  B.  JAMES 
*BENJ.  T.  REED 
*CHARLES  W.  UPHAM 
NATHL.  WOOD 
EDWARD  KENT 
SAML.  H.  LYON 
JOHN  M.  CHENEY 


*JOHN    ANGIER2 

OLIVER  BLOOD 
WARREN  BURTON 
RALPH  W.  EMERSON 
ENOCH  FRYE 
JOHN  G.  K.  GOURDIN 
JOSEPH  B.  HILL 


JN.  B.  HILL 

1  Spanish  silver  coins  representing  these  amounts  were  in 
general  circulation  up  to  the  year  1850;  the  six  and  one-quar 
ter  cents  was  however  called  "fourpence-hapenny,"  and  the 
twelve  and  one-half  cents  "  ninepence  "  in  New  England,  and 
in  the  Western  and  Southern  States  a  "  bit,"  surviving  still  in 
"two  bits  "  for  twenty-five  cents. 

2  Those  whose   names  are  marked  with  an  asterisk  were 
"honourably  dismissed  "  at  their  own  request. 

A  few  words  may  be  said  of  some  of  these  members.  War 
ren  Burton,  of  Wilton,  N.  H.,  became  a  clergyman,  first  a 
Unitarian,  afterwards  an  enthusiastic  Swedenborgian.  He 
preached  in  various  Massachusetts  and  New  Hampshire  towns, 
and  was  minister-at-large  among  the  poor  in  Boston.  But  he 
chiefly  devoted  himself  to  writing  and  lecturing  upon  domestic 
education  and  home-culture. 

John  Gourdin  returned  to  his  home  in  the  South  and  died 
early. 

John  Boynton  and  Joseph  Bancroft  Hill,  twin  brothers, 
came  from  Mason,  N.  H.  The  former  became  a  lawyer  ;  the 


38  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

October  i$th,  1819. 


The  next  meeting  being  that  of  the  essays,  a 
committee  of  three  were  chosen  to  provide  for 
the  evening:  Blood,  Gourdin  and  Lyon.  It  was 
found  necessary  by  the  society  to  have  a  partic 
ular  sum  of  money  agreed  on  to  be  expended 
essay  evenings.1 

Accordingly,  it  was  voted  that  two  dollars 
should  be  the  sum  ;  that  what  the  fines  did 

latter  also  studied  law,  but  was  successively  a  printer,  teacher 
and  Presbyterian  preaching  elder,  mainly  in  Tennessee.  During 
the  Civil  War  he  was  afield  agent  of  the  U.  S.  Christian  Com 
mission  and  died  in  that  service  at  Chattanooga. 

Charles  W.  Upham  studied  divinity  and  was  a  minister  in 
Salem.  Later,  he  was  mayor  of  that  city  and  was  sent  to 
Congress.  His  book  on  the  Salem  witchcraft  is  well  known. 

Edward  Kent,  a  handsome,  forcible,  and  dignified  man,  was 
born  in  Concord,  N.  H.  He  studied  law  and  moved  to  Ban- 
gor,  Maine,  of  which  city  he  was  mayor.  He  was  twice 
Governor  of  Maine,  later,  Consul  at  Rio  Janeiro,  and  finally  a 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Maine. 

John  M.  Cheney  lived  in  Concord,  like  Emerson,  and  was 
for  most  of  his  life  cashier  of  the  bank  there. 

i  On  essay  evenings  (if  the  essays  were  forthcoming,  and 
not  without)  there  was  some  simple  refreshment.  Mr.  Emer 
son  used  to  say  that  he  remembered  the  Malaga  from  War- 
land's  (the  grocer)  as  more  delicious  than  any  wine  he  had 
tasted  since. 


i8zo]   PYTHOLOGIAN   SOCIETY        39 

not  cancel  should  be  paid  by  an  assessment  upon 
the  members.  Voted  to  adjourn  till  Monday 
evening,  6  o'clock,  to  Br.  Gourdin's  room,  No 
vember  yth. 

NATHANIEL  WOOD,  Sec'y. 

Monday  Ev'g.,  March  6tb,  [1820]. 

Met  at  Br.  Wood's  room  according  to  ad 
journment.  Proceeded  to  confer  on  the  admis 
sion  of  a  new  member,  vice  Upham.  Cheney 
was  nominated  and  elected,  and  Br.  Wood  ap 
pointed  to  inform  him  and  invite  him  to  join. 
Proceeded  to  the  reading  of  themes.  Brs.  Lyon 
and  Gourdin  being  absent,  chose  by  lot  as  vol 
untary  discussers  Blood,  vice  Gourdin,  and 
Wood,  vice  Lyon.  The  first  discussion  between 
Kent  and  Frye  was  decided  in  favour  of  Kent  by 
Blood  and  Reed,judges.  After  discussion,  chose 
Brs.  Kent  and  Hill  ist  to  appoint  subjects  for 
discussion;  Brs.  Wood  and  Burton  for  themes. 
The  committee  for  discussions  report:  — 

ist:  Which  is  most  conducive  to  individual 
happiness,  a  state  of  celibacy  or  matrimony  ?  — 
Burton  and  Reed. 

2d:  Whether  Daddy  Tracy  can  be  justified 
in  spending  his  days  in  Cambridge?  —  Wood 
and  Blood. 


40  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

3d  :  Which  is  the  strongest  passion,  Love  or 
Ambition  ? — Emerson. 

Committee  for  themes  report,  "  Envy  wishes, 
and  then  believes."  Both  reports  accepted. 

Br.  Reed  requested  that  the  fine  which  he 
had  paid  for  non-performance  of  Essay  might 
be  refunded,  as  he  had  been  sick  for  three  weeks 
previous  to  the  evening  on  which  it  was  due, 
and  was  then  sick  and  out  of  town.  Much  warm 
debate  ensuing,  he  withdrew  the  request  and  it 
was  Voted,  That  the  members  of  the  society  as 
individuals  in  the  situation  of  Br.  Reed  would 
consider  an  essay  as  due  from  them. 

Adjourned  till  Monday  evening,  a  fortnight 
hence,  to  meet  at  7  o'clock  at  Br.  Emerson's 
room. 

Attest,         R.  W.  EMERSON. 

Monday  Evg.,  March  zotb  [1820]. 
Met  according  to  adjournment,  Br.  Kent  in 
the  chair.  Proceeded  to  reading  themes,  then  to 
discussion.  On  account  of  the  absence  of  Brs. 
Hill  ist,  Gourdin  and  Lyon,  it  was  Voted  that 
Brs.  Frye  and  Hill  ad  be  judges  of  all  the  dis 
cussions.  Question  arising  with  regard  to  the 
expediency  of  choosing  by  lot  one  who  should 
voluntarily  discuss  with  Br.  Emerson,  it  was 


PYTHOLOGIAN    SOCIETY        41 

Voted,  That  in  the  present  or  a  similar  instance 
the  single  discusser  should  speak  alone.  The 
judges  decided  the  first  discussion  in  favour  of 
Br.  Reed  (for  celibacy!).  On  examination  of 
the  second,  the  judges  reported  indecision,  and 
the  Moderator  decided  for  Br.  Wood.  After  dis 
cussion,  proceeded  to  hear  Br.  Wood's  report 
as  committee,  who  reported  that  Mr.  Cheney 
will  join  the  society  with  pleasure,  but  cannot 
appear  till  the  next  meeting.  Proceeded  to  com 
mittees.  Brs.  Blood  and  Burton,  committee  for 
discussions,  report :  — 

ist:  Whether  the  accession  of  the  Canadas 
to  the  territory  of  the  U.  S.  A.  would  be  for 
the  best  interest  of  this  country.  —  Frye  and 
Hill  i  st. 

2d:  Whether  Commons  be  honourable  to 
the  progress  of  College  literature.  —  Kent  and 
Hill  2d. 

jd:  Whether  Cicero  or  Demosthenes  be  the 
greatest  orator.  —  Gourdin  and  Lyon. 

Committee  of  themes  report  "  Futurity." 

Voted)  That  the  anniversary  of  this  society, 
the  24th  of  April  next,  be  celebrated  by  Oration 
and  Poem.  Chose  Br.  Kent  Orator,  and  Br. 
Emerson  Poet.  As  the  next  meeting  is  Essay 
night,  chose  Br.  Burton  and  Emerson  committee 
of  arrangements. 


42  JOURNAL  [AGE  16 

Adjourned  to  Monday  Evg.,  7  o'clock,  to 
meet  at  Br.  Burton's  room. 

Attest,         R.  W.  EMERSON,  Sec'y. 

Monday  Evg.,  April  %d  [1820]. 

Met  according  to  adjournment.  Br.  Lyon  in 
the  chair.  Proceeded  to  hear  Br.  Hill  ist's  Es 
say  Voted,  that  the  thanks  of  the  society  be 
presented  to  Br.  Hill  for  his  elegant  and  ingen 
ious  performance.  Br.  Gourdin  not  being  pre 
sent,  proceeded  to  the  convivial  business  of  the 
evening.  Afterwards  Br.  Gourdin  appearing,  on 
account  of  the  lateness  of  the  time,  and  other 
considerations,  it  was  Fo/^That  Br.  G.'s  Essay 
should  be  read  at  the  next  ordinary  meeting  of 
the  society. 

Appointed  Brs.  Hill  2d  and  Wood  to  be  the 
Essayists  at  the  meeting  in  the  middle  of  next 
term. 

Adjourned  till  April  24th,  the  anniversary  of 
the  Society,  to  meet  at  Br.  Emerson's  Room,  to 
hear  the  Oration  and  Poem. 

Attest,         R.  W.  EMERSON,  Sec'y. 

April  i6tb,  1820. 

Met  by  mistake  two  days  later  than  the  anni 
versary.  Voted)  that  Br.  Gourdin  be  requested 


i82o]     PYTHOLOGIAN  SOCIETY        43 

to  read  his  Essay  this  evening  to  the  society. 
Proceeded  to  initiate  Br.  Cheney,  then  to  hear 
the  Essay.  Voted>  that  the  thanks  of  the  society 
be  presented  to  Br.  Gourdin,  for  his  correct  and 
elegant  essay.  Br.  Blood  presented  Br.  Kent's 
excuse  for  non-attendance,  and  it  was  ?*0fa/,that 
Br.  Emerson  be  a  committee  to  request  Br. 
Kent  to  deliver  his  oration  to  the  society  at  the 
earliest  convenient  opportunity.  Proceeded  to 
hear  the  poem.  A  treat  was  then  given  to  the 
society  by  the  liberality  of  Brs.  Reed  and  Lyon. 
Voted  that  the  thanks  of  the  society  be  given 
to  Brs.  Reed  and  Lyon  for  their  unexampled 
munificence.  Adjourned  to  a  fortnight  from  next 
Monday  evening. 

Sec.  R.  W.  EMERSON. 


November  18,  1820. 

After  several  unsuccessful  efforts,  on  the 
part  of  the  Secretary,  to  call  the  society  to 
gether,  a  few  of  the  members  (affording  an  in 
stance  of  disinterestedness  and  self  denial,  which 
reflects  the  highest  honour  on  themselves)  met 
this  evening  at  Br.  Hill's  room.  After  spending 
some  time  in  lively  conversation,  a  sufficient 
number  were  found  present  to  form  a  quorum ; 


44  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

and,  accordingly,  the  meeting  was  opened,  when, 
agreeably  to  the  object  of  the  meeting,  the  Es 
says  were  called  for. 

But  Br.  Gourdin,  from  whom  one  has  been 
some  time  due,  not  appearing,  his  of  course  was 
omitted ;  as  was  Br.  Blood's  for  the  same  reason. 
The  Essayists,  whose  performances  became  due 
this  evening,  were  Brs.  Cheney  and  Emerson. 
Br.  Cheney  was,  therefore,  called  upon,  and  de 
livered  a  very  elegant  and  patriotic  Essay ;  for 
which  the  sincere  thanks  of  the  society  were  be 
stowed  upon  him  ;  a  mark  of  honour  incompara 
bly  more  valuable  than  medals,  which  time  will 
tarnish  and  destroy,  or  statues,  which  violence 
will  deface,  and  barbarism  overthrow.  — 

Here  the  Secretary  would  gladly  close  the 
record  of  this  evening,  and  let  the  critics  of  Pos 
terity  suppose  that  what  he  has  written  above  is 
merely  a  fragment  of  what  he  recorded  ;  and  ex 
ercise  their  learning  and  ingenuity  in  supplying 
the  deficiency,  but  truth  and  fidelity  forbid.  For 
(O  tempora  !  O  mores !)  no  sooner  had  Br.  Che 
ney  delivered  his  Essay,  and  received  the  thanks 
of  the  Society,  as  above  recorded,  than  some 
of  the  members  present  began  to  express  un 
easiness  at  being  any  longer  detained ;  and  that, 
although  Br.  Emerson  was  prepared  to  read  the 


i8zi]     PYTHOLOGIAN  SOCIETY       45 

Essay  due  from  him.  Strange  infatuation  !  But 
such  was  their  desire  to  depart  that  it  was  found 
impossible  to  keep  them  together  any  longer. 
The  meeting  was  therefore  adjourned.— 

Attest,  E.  FRYE,  Secretary. 

February  i6th>  1821. 

Wonderful  to  relate !  within  an  hour  of  the 
time  appointed,  a  larger  number  of  the  members 
than  have  attended  any  meeting  since  I  have  had 
the  honour  to  be  Sec'y>  met  at  No.  4  H'y  *  to  hear 
the  Essays  due  last  time,  and  the  anniversary 
oration  due  from  time  not  quite  immemorial,  but 
so  long  that  it  should  have  been  delivered  almost 
a  year  ago.  —  The  meeting  was  then  opened  (with 
Br.  Kent  in  the  chair)  and  the  oration  called 
for.  But  Br.  Kent,  not  having  had  sufficient  time, 
we  may  suppose,  to  prepare  himself  since  he 
was  chosen  Orator,  desired  that  it  might  be  post 
poned  till  the  next  anniversary  (April  24th) ; 
which  was  agreed  to  by  the  society.  We  shall 
then  verify  the  old  proverb,  by  killing  two  birds 
with  one  stone.  Having  settled  this  business, 
Br.  Burton  was  called  on  for  his  Essay,  which 
has  been  due  almost  as  long  as  the  Oration.  But 
not  being  prepared,  it  was  Voted^  after  hearing 
i  Holworthy  Hall. 


46  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

his  excuse,  "  that  it  be  delivered  on  the  evening  of 
the  Monday  nearest  the  fifteenth  of  April."  —  Br. 
Gourdin  being  absent,  his  Essay  of  course  was 
not  read.  Br.  Blood,  whose  Essay  was  due  at 
the  same  time  with  Br.  Gourdin's,  was  next 
called  on.  —  But  it  appearing  that,  by  some  fatal 
mistake,  he  had  left  it  in  Sterling,  or  elsewhere, 
a  vote  was  passed  to  hear  it  with  Br.  Burton's. 
Thus  we  despatch  business.  No  Essay  now  re 
mained  to  be  heard  except  Br.  Emerson's ;  which 
was  not  read  last  term  on  account  of  circum 
stances  mentioned  page  46  of  this  volume.  He 
was,  therefore,  called  on  to  read  now.  And,  oh ! 
how  the  Secretary's  heart  beat  with  joy,  when  he 
actually  saw  him  arise  from  his  seat,  and,  taking 
a  roll  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  seat  himself  by 
the  table!  Rejoice  with  me,  my  Brethren,  for  we 
shall  yet  hear  an  Essay  this  evening.  —  He  ac 
cordingly  read  a  very  "Elegant  and  appropriate 
Essay"  for  which  he  received  the  unanimous 
and  (let  me  add)  the  most  sincere  thanks  of  the 
society. 

All  business  relative  to  performances  being 
thus  finished,  Br.  Hill  2d  was  chosen  commit 
tee  of  one  to  wait  on  Br.  Gourdin,  and  inform 
him  that,  unless  he,  in  future,  attend  the  meet 
ings  of  the  society  more  regularly  than  in  times 


i82i]     PYTHOLOGIAN  SOCIETY        47 

past,  he  shall  be  expelled.  Br.  Blood  was  likewise 
chosen  committee  of  one  to  wait  on  Br.  Lyon 
for  the  same  purpose.  .  .  . 

And  now,  as  my  term  of  service  has  expired, 
I  must  leave  it  with  him  [Hill,  the  new  Secre 
tary]  to  transmit  to  posterity  the  very  interest 
ing  proceedings  of  this  society,  while  I  with  true 
firmness  of  mind  (Oh  !  the  sweets  of  power !), 
will  descend  to  a  private  station.  So  farewell  to 
all  my  greatness;  Frye's  occupation  's  gone  ! 
Attest,  ENOCH  FRYE,  Sec'y. 

Wednesday,  March  21,  1821. 

Met  at  Br.  Blood's,  and  let  us  look  up,  for 
the  day  of  restoration  draweth  nigh.  With  rap 
ture  do  I  record  the  proceedings  of  this  joyful 
evening. 

Imprimis :  Br.  Wood  filled  the  chair  with  su 
perior  dignity,  in  which  gravity  and  imposing 
majesty  were  predominant.  The  house  was  then 
called  to  order,  and  we  were  favoured  with  a 
most  ingenious,  amusing,  and  humorous  per 
formance  by  Br.  Blood,  entitled,  "journal  trav 
els,  etc"  in  the  country.  The  effect  which  this 
produced  upon  us  was  —  I  can  not  tell  how  power 
ful — and  therefore  shall  not  attempt  to  describe 


48  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

it,  —  it  baffled  description.  Therefore  we  will  drop 
that  subject  and  turn  to  a  milder  atmosphere, 
and  calmer  sky.  —  Br.  Emerson  next  advanced, 
with  a  neat,  concise  and  pithy  comparison  of 
country  and  city  life,  much  to  the  edification 
of  the  Brotherhood.  Br.  Wood  then  obliged  us 
with  an  original  and,  no  doubt,  very  accurate 
description  of  "  country  life/'  in  which  he  drew 
aside  the  curtain,  that  is,  opened  the  door  and 
introduced  us,  at  once,  into  the  interior  of  a 
Yeoman's  dwelling.  We  were  very  much  pleased 
with  the  mistake  which  the  master  of  the  house, 
"  good  easy  soul"  made,  by  taking  his  guest  at 
first  for  an  Ass,  or  some  other  outlandish  beast. 
But  on  awaking  from  his  nap,  he  saw  his  error, 
and  gave  him  such  a  cordial  reception,  that  we 
were  charmed  with  "  country  life."  Themes  be 
ing  despatched,  proceeded  to  discussion.  The 
first,  Hill  id  so/us,  Gourdin  absent,  decided  in 
his  favour  of  course.  Then  the  important 
Bowling  question  was  discussed  by  Kent  and 
Frye.1  In  the  progress  of  which  the  former 
displayed  an  interest,  an  eloquence,  warmth 
of  feeling,  and  sensibility  in  defence  of  Patrick 

i  At  a  meeting  in  the  preceding  August,  the  question  had 
been  assigned  to  these  members,  "Whether  Dowling  be  ad 
vantageous  to  the  welfare  of  college  ? ' ' 


i8zi]     PYTHOLOGIAN  SOCIETY        49 

Bowling,  a  Catholic  Irishman,  which  did  equal 
honour  to  his  head  and  his  heart.  He  even  rose 
to  the  Sublime  in  defence  of  this  great  and  much 
injured  man,  interlarded  with  specimens  of  the 
most  beautiful  Pathos.  His  feelings  indeed  were 
so  much  affected,  that  they  choked  his  utterance, 
but  his  expressive  countenance  did  more  for  his 
cause  than  all  the  letters  in  the  alphabet.  Brother 
Frye  on  the  contrary  produced  many  "  knock 
down  "  arguments,  which  had  a  manifest  ten 
dency  to  disprove  all  his  opponent  had  advanced. 
He  assailed  him  with  invectives  and  contradic 
tions  in  abundance.  Displayed  much  sophistry, 
satire,  humour,  in  his  attack  upon  the  maculate 
Dowling.  He  would  even  gladly  have  buried 
him  in  a  hole  of  his  own  digging,  into  which  a 
fit  of  intoxication  had  plunged  him.  This  being 
a  case  of  peculiar  importance,  instead  of  com 
mitting  the  decision,  as  usual,  to  two  members 
only,  the  secretary  formally  took  the  opinion 
of  all  present ;  and  notwithstanding  the  obstinate 
virulence,  and  the  position  of  Mr.  Attorney 
Frye,  the  Patrick  was  cleared  by  a  majority  of 
one.  So  may  intemperance  triumph  ! x 

Committees :    Kent  and  Hill  2d,  For  Dis- 

i    This  last  sentence  seems  to  have  been  written  in  later. 


50  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

cussions,  reported  the  following  which  were  ac 
cepted. 

i :  Whether  it  be  beneficial  to  the  students  to 
spend  much  time  in  the  acquisition  of  the  polite 
accomplishment.  —  Burton  and  Emerson. 

2:  A  Conference.  On  the  comparative  inter 
est  excited  by  the  lectures  of  Ware,  Willard  and 
Everett.  —  Blood,  Cheney  and  Wood. 

Blood  and  Cheney,  for  themes,  reported: 
"The  miseries  of  human  life."  Accepted. 

Voted  to  adjourn  to  the  5  April  next,  to  meet 
at  Burton's,  at  7  o'clock  P.  M. 

April  5,  1821. 
Met  at  Burton's.  .  .  . 

Kent  and  Hill  2d,  judges  of  the  discussion  by 
Burton  and  Emerson,  decided  in  the  negative, 
in  favour  of  Burton. 

Attest,  Jos.  B.  HILL,  Sec. 

May  u/,  1821. 

Met  at  Brother  Blood's  to  hear  Br.  Kent's  an 
niversary  oration.  Liberal  provision  had  been 
made  for  social  conviviality,  to  which  two  bottles 
of  wine,  handed  over  by  brother  Emerson,  not 
a  little  contributed,  and  for  which  by  a  public 


1821]    PYTHOLOGIAN   SOCIETY        51 

vote  the  society  bestowed  their  warmest  thanks 
to  brother  Emerson.  Br.  Cheney  filled  the  chair, 
and  after  a  cheerful  glass  the  orator  held  forth 
on — 

[Here  the  records  of  the  society  come  to  an 
abrupt  end,  excepting  certain  accounts  in  the 
end  of  the  books,  and  the  following  official  de 
claration  :  — ] 

I,  R.W.  Emerson,  committee  of  arrangements, 
have  received  of  R.W.  Emerson,  Secretary,  the 
sum  of  two  dollars  for  each  essay-meeting  in  the 
past  term  collected  from  fine  and  assessment, 
and  likewise  the  donations  made  to  the  society 
on  the  anniversary  meeting,  &c.,  and  have  faith 
fully  expended  the  same  for  the  best  interests  of 
the  society,  as  far  as  my  limited  apprehension 
would  assist  me.  There  remains  in  the  Trea 
sury  the  sum  of  one  cent,  being  the  donation  of 
Br.  Oliver  Blood  to  the  Society  —  which  I  shall 
pay  on  the  demand  of  the  new  Secretary. 

Signed,         R.  W.  EMERSON. 


JOURNAL   III 

"NO.  XVIII" 

1820 

[BETWEEN,  or  contemporary  with  "Wide 
Worlds/'  Nos.  i  and  2,  is  a  manuscript  book, 
marked  as  above,  a  few  specimens  from  which 
are  here  given.  Besides  these,  it  contains  notes 
on  College  lectures,  and  extracts  copied  from  the 
books  he  was  reading;  also  some  very  juvenile 
criticism  of  Wordsworth,  especially  the  "Excur 
sion,"  and  notes  for  his  prize  dissertation  "  On 
the  Present  State  of  Ethical  Philosophy,"  which, 
as  has  been  said,  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  Everett 
Hale  printed,  with  that  on  Socrates,  accompany 
ing  his  sketch  of  Emerson. 

The  note-book  also  has  fragments  on  the  Re 
ligion  of  the  Middle  Ages,  Religious  Tenden 
cies  of  Different  States  of  Society,  on  Poetry,  et 
caetera.  Of  romance  also  there  are  a  few  pages, 
"The  Magician,"  and  an  unnamed  one  about  a 
witch-wife ;  also  various  scraps  of  verse,  includ 
ing  part  of  a  ballad  on  King  Richard. 

But  much  space  is  given  in  this  and  some  of 
the  following  "Wide  Worlds"  to  a  discussion 


1 8zo]  DRAMA  53 

of  the  Drama,  especially  in  America.  He  attacks 
it  in  a  daring  and  violent  manner,  praising  the 
Greek  tragedies,  but  his  youthful  sense  of  mo 
rality  is  outraged  by  the  grossness  of  passages 
in  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  and  his  taste  dis 
gusted  by  the  degeneracy  of  the  later  drama.  It 
must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  first,  that  it  is 
doubtful  whether  the  youth  had  ever  been  inside 
of  a  play-house;  second,  that  the  writings  in 
question  were  probably  prepared  for  a  debate  in 
the  Pythologian  Society,  in  which  he  had  his 
part  assigned;  hence,  do  not  exactly  represent 
Emerson's  views  at  the  time,  especially  as,  some 
what  later,  he  adopts  a  much  less  stringent  tone, 
and  believes  that  the  Theatre  in  America  might 
be  reformed,  and  become  an  elevating  influence, 
from  which,  however,  Shakespeare  with  all  his 
charms,  must  be  excluded,  unless  severely 
expurgated.] 

"NO.  XVIII" 

BOSTON,  September  22d,  1820. 

Where  dost  thou  careless  lie 
Buried  in  ease  and  sloth  ? 
Knowledge  that  sleeps  doth  die; 
And  this  security, 


54  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

It  is  the  common  moth 

Which  eats  on  wits  and  arts,  and  quite  destroys  them 
both. 

Are  all  the  Aonian  springs 

Dryed  up  ?  Lies  Thespia  waste  ? 
Does  Clarius'  harp  want  strings  ? 
That  not  a  nymph  now  sings, 
Or  droop  they  as  disgraced 

To  see  their  seats  and  bowers  by  chattering  pies  de 
faced  ? 

BEN  JONSON  TO  HIMSELF. 

DRAMA 

Campbell,  the  poet,  said  to  Professor  Ever 
ett  that  the  only  chance  which  America  has  for 
a  truly  national  literature  is  to  be  found  in  the 
Drama;1  we  are  bound  to  reverence  such  high 
authority,  and  at  least  to  examine  the  correct 
ness  of  the  position. 

Few  speculations  have  such  a  charm  in  their 
nature  as  this,  whose  object  is,  how  to  conduct 
a  dialogue  between  a  man  and  his  fellow  just 
far  enough  removed  from  common  life  to  avoid 

I  This  statement  is  twice  made  in  this  journal.  I  have  sub 
stituted  for  the  one  found  in  this  place  the  later  one,  as  better 
expressed,  and  mentioning  that  the  opinion  was  given  to  Pro 
fessor  Everett. 


1 820]  DRAMA  55 

disgust  while  it  must  claim  the  attention  and 
elevate  the  tone  of  feeling. 

In  the  nation  which  has  always  been  regarded 
as  the  model  in  all  the  arts,  the  fountain  of  all 
polished  letters,  and  the  pattern  of  all  time,  the 
Drama  was  invented,  and  there  alone  succeeded 
perfectly.  All  inquiries  therefore  upon  this  sub 
ject  begin  from  Greece.  The  history  and  influ 
ence  of  tragedy,  its  modes  and  machines  of  op 
eration,  must  be  explained  from  these  sources. 

Tragedy,  by  exciting  the  emotions  of  fear 
and  of  pity,  tends  to  correct  the  same  affections 
in  the  soul.  This  has  been  all  along  esteemed 
the  philosophy  of  tragedy,  with  what  correct 
ness  we  shall  not  pretend  to  determine ;  but 
these  ends  were  answered  in  Greece,  and  more 
than  this,  a  respect  for  the  gods  was  effectually 
inculcated.  The  thraldom  of  superstition  was 
made  useful  to  shackle  those  whom  the  light 
and  law  of  natural  religion  could  not  guide,  and 
he  whom  the  beauty  of  moral  rectitude  could 
not  win,  was  afraid  to  face  the  temple  of  the 
Furies,  and  averted  his  head  as  he  passed  by  it. 
But  by  whom  was  this  powerful  influence  cre 
ated  over  a  people  whose  refined  taste  kept  a 
watchful  eye  on  the  artist,  so  that  it  should  not 
be  seduced  unawares,  and  never  yielded  save  to 


56  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

the  irresistible  might  of  genius  ?  In  what  schools 
did  they  purchase  the  subtle  art  which  became 
in  their  hands  an  instrument  of  such  power  ? 
This  question  is  the  most  important  which  can 
be  asked,  for  it  developes  the  causes  of  their  pre 
eminence.  It  was  not  the  robed  disciple  at  ease 
in  the  Academy  who  gained  the  prize  of  tragedy, 
but  ^Eschylus  was  a  son  of  the  republic  who  had 
fought  valiantly  at  Marathon  and  Plataea,  and 
came  bleeding  from  the  battle,  to  assemble  in 
a  simple  natural  plot  the  personages  of  old  tra 
ditions,  and  attribute  to  them  the  feelings  he 
had  just  felt,  and  place  them  in  circumstances 
in  which  himself  had  been  placed.  Miraculous 
effects  have  been  recorded  of  their  representa 
tion;  but  by  whom  and  how  were  they  per 
formed  ?  In  answer  to  this  we  all  know  how  the 
primitive  stage  differed  from  the  modern;  that 
all  was  on  a  magnificent  scale,  that  the  actors 
were  transformed  to  giants,  and  the  strength  of 
their  voices  increased  by  a  metallic  mouthpiece. 
But  that  which  formed  their  chief  distinction 
were  their  independent  habits  of  feeling,  of  sen 
timent,  of  invention.  This  is  illustrated  by  an 
anecdote  of  their  theatre.  Polus,  the  first  actor 
on  the  stage,  was  preparing  to  perform  the  part 
ofElectra.  In  this  piece  Electra  embraces  the 


1 820]  DRAMA  57 

urn  supposed  to  hold  the  remains  of  Orestes. 
The  Greek  actor  ordered  that  the  urn  contain 
ing  the  ashes  of  his  own  son  should  be  brought 
from  the  tomb  and  conveyed  to  the  theatre; 
and  when,  on  the  stage,  this  urn  was  offered  to 
him  and  the  father  bent  over  it,  he  rent  the  air 
with  no  mimic  grief  or  insincere  howlings,  but 
the  whole  audience  was  melted  with  the  moving 
picture  of  his  grief  and  lamentation. 

When  the  light  had  failed  from  the  Greek 
theatre  which  those  masters  had  poured  upon 
it,  it  would  have  violated  the  common  order  of 
events  had  an  equal  illumination  been  rekin 
dled.  The  frivolous  Comic  Muse,  hitherto  of 
slight  esteem,  grew  into  favour  and  trode  fast  on 
the  steps  of  sceptred  Tragedy.  The  witty  and 
offensive  Aristophanes  parodied  the  eloquent 
declamation  of  Euripides,  mimicked  the  awful 
port  of  princes  and  gods,  and  converted  the  gen 
eral  satire  of  the  old  comedians  into  a  vicious 
personal  ribaldry.  Finally  the  civil  authority  in 
terfered  to  stop  its  flagrant  abuses. 

The  tragedy  was  not  inherited  by  Rome, 
which  scrupulously  incorporated  all  the  arts  of 
Athens.  It  was  too  delicate  a  treasure  to  be 


58  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

lightly  transmitted  by  instruction  or  won  with 
the  spoils. 

In  France,  during  the  dark  ages,  the  castle 
of  feudal  chieftains  witnessed  a  second  rude 
drama,  the  name  and  character  of  which  is  all 
that  remains.  The  "  Mysteries"  served  to  shew 
that  it  was  a  natural  expression  of  the  human 
feelings. 

In  England,  the  progress  was  somewhat  sim 
ilar,  but  the  first  productions  which  were  marked 
for  fame  are  works  of  prodigious  power  and  their 
origin  is  sudden  and  unaccountable.  From  an 
obscurity  which  none  had  illuminated  since 
Chaucer's  era,  there  suddenly  issued  a  series  of 
elegant  and  original  performances  equal  in  power 
to  the  masterpieces  of  Greece,  and  adorned  by 
a  strain  of  such  delicate  feeling,  and  the  wisdom 
of  solid  and  rare  philosophy,  in  verse  wherein 
was  breathed  the  very  melody  of  nature  to  ar 
rest  the  soul  withal. 

Over  all  this  fair  miracle  a  hideous  corrup 
tion  was  spread  which  made  every  page  offen 
sive.  It  is  wonderful  how  intimately  health  and 
poison,  beauty  and  destruction,  can  combine, 
and  nowhere  shall  we  find  such  a  fatal  illustra 
tion.  The  inhabitants  of  England  have  sat  down 
rejoicing  in  the  light  which  Shakspeare's  genius 


i82o]  THE   SCIENCES  59 

hath  shed  around  them,  unconscious  or  careless 
of  the  defilement  which  attends  us.  .  .  . 

Shall  we  be  told  that  Shakspeare  painted  na 
ture  as  he  found  it,  that  we  only  see  here  what 
we  see  elsewhere  in  the  scenes  of  life  daily? 
No,  he  paints  nature,  not  in  innocence  and  its 
primitive  condition,  but  not  until  it  has  become 
depraved  itself,  and  its  exhibition  will  deprave 
others.  Nor  is  the  general  moral  which  is  to  be 
deduced  from  the  whole  pure.  .  .  . 

Shakspeare  assumed  the  commanding  atti 
tude  of  bold  unrivalled  genius  ;  men  saw  that  the 
inspiration  was  genuine,  and  few  were  so  scru 
pulous  as  to  ask  if  all  were  here.  .  .  . 

The  statue  is  colossal  but  its  diabolical  fea 
tures  poison  our  admiration  for  the  genius  which 
conceived  and  the  skilful  hand  which  carved  it. 

[THE  EXACT  SCIENCES] 

Of  all  the  sciences  the  science  of  the  Mind  is 
necessarily  the  most  worthy  and  elevating.  But 
it  cannot  precede  the  others.  Natural  Philosophy 
and  Mathematics  must  be  sought  in  order  to  gain 
first,  the  comforts  of  civilized  life,  and  then  the 
data  whence  our  moral  reasonings  proceed.  It  is 
an  old  saying  that  all  are  a  circle,  and  necessarily 
depend  on  one  another;  that  great  improvements 


60  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

in  Astronomy  involve  a  knowledge  of  Mathe 
matics,  and  so  of  the  others.  We  exist  to  moral 
purposes  and  are  proud  to  call  ourselves  intel 
lectual  beings!  Hence,  one  would  say,  Leave 
matter  to  the  beasts  that  are  only  matter,  and 
indulge  your  peculiar  and  distinguishing  faculties. 
But  then  our  reason  and  all  our  mental  powers 
are  called  into  as  active  exercise  in  demonstrat 
ing  the  properties  of  matter  as  the  properties  of 
mind,  and  the  beasts  are  alike  incapable  of  both. 
So  your  plea  confutes  itself. 

With  regard  then  to  the  study  of  Natural 
Philosophy,  I  do  not  think  any  one  study  so 
contributes  to  expand  the  mind  as  our  first  cor 
rect  notions  of  this  science; — when  we  first  know 
that  the  sky  is  not  a  shell,  but  a  vacant  space, 
that  the  world  is  not  still  and  a  plain,  but  a  little 
globe,  performing,  as  one  of  a  system,  immense 
revolutions.  .  .  . 


1 820]  POEM  6 1 

DEDICATION 

Quern  fugis  ?  aut  quis  te  nostris  complexibus  arcet  ? 
Haec  memorans,  cinerem  et  sopitos  suscitat  ignes. 

Virgilian  lot. 

(This  song  to  one  whose  unimproved  talents  and  unat- 
tained  friendship  have  interested  the  writer  in  his  char 
acter  and  fate.") 

By  the  unacknowledged  tie 

Which  binds  us  to  each  other, 

By  the  pride  of  feeling  high 

Which  friendship's  name  can  smother; 

By  the  cold  encountering  eyes 
Whose  language  deeply  thrilling 

Rebelled  against  the  prompt  surmise 
Which  told  the  heart  was  willing; 

By  all  which  you  have  felt  and  feel, 

My  eager  glance  returning, 
I  offer  to  this  silent  zeal 

On  youthful  altars  burning. 

All  the  classic  hours  which  fill 

The  little  urn  of  honour ; 
Minerva  guide  and  pay  the  pen 

Your  hand  conferred  upon  her. 


62  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

TRANSLATION    OF    MONTAIGNE    TO    MONSIEUR 
CHARRON 

May  fortune  bless  thee 

And  friends  caress  thee 

Remote  from  care,  but  loved  by  me ; 

The  gifts  of  Pleasure 

In  boundless  treasure 

Not  withheld,  but  poured  on  thee. 

Garlanded  with  roses 

At  eve  thy  friend  reposes, 

Yet  looks  for  joys  that  boundless  be. 

R.  W.  E. 

When  Jove's  grey  daughter,  beldame  Care, 
On  crimson  couches  first  was  laid, 

Her  thousand  wrinkled  children  there 
Scowled  on  poor  Man  —  to  all  betrayed. 

There  was  a  little  Fairy  then 

Of  crooked  form,  whose  name  was  S, 

Who  bade  the  miscreants  join  to  form 
A  smiling  cherub,  hight  Caress. 

"  Doth  not  the  Queen  of  the  woods  gather 
the  secrets  of  futurity  when  she  reads  the  de 
caying  oak  leaves,  and  can  she  not  tell  the 
young  man  how  to  guide  his  steps  in  life  ? " 

i  Question  of  a  youth  to  a  weird  woman  in  a  fragment 
of  a  fairy  story  of  R.  W.  E.'s. 


JOURNAL  IV 

THE   WIDE   WORLD,  NO.    2 

[EMERSON  was  now  a  Senior,  seventeen  years 
old,  and  with  his  loved  brother,  Edward  Bliss 
Emerson,  who  had  just  entered  the  Freshman 
class,  occupied  room  No.  9  Hollis.] 

October •,  1820. 

I  have  determined  to  grant  a  new  charter  to 
my  pen,  having  finished  my  commonplace  book, 
which  I  commenced  in  January,  and  with  as  much 
success  as  I  was  ambitious  of —  whose  whole 
aim  was  the  small  utility  of  being  the  exchequer 
to  the  accumulating  store  of  organized  verbs, 
nouns  and  substantives,  to  wit,  sentences.  It 
has  been  a  source  of  entertainment,  and  accom 
plished  its  end,  and  on  this  account  has  induced 
me  to  repeat  or  rather  continue  the  experiment. 
Wherefore,  On! 

To  forget  for  a  season  the  world  and  its  con 
cerns,  and  to  separate  the  soul  for  sublime  con 
templation  till  it  has  lost  the  sense  of  circum 
stances,  and  is  decking  itself  in  plumage  drawn 
out  from  the  gay  wardrobe  of  Fancy,  is  a  recre- 


64  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

ation  and  a  rapture  of  which  few  men  can  avail 
themselves.  But  this  privilege,  in  common  with 
other  great  gifts  of  Nature,  is  attainable  if  not 
inborn.  It  is  denied  altogether  to  three  classes  at 
least  of  mankind,  viz.:  the  queer,  the  downright, 
and  the  ungainly.  This  is  by  no  means  a  careless 
or  fanciful  classification,  although  rather  a  re 
stricted  sense  belongs  to  these  epithets.  By  "the 
queer"  I  understand  those  animals  of  oddity 
whose  disgusting  eccentricity  flows  from  a  con 
ceited  character  and  the  lack  of  common  sense. 
I  characterize  "  the  downright "  only  as  people 
who  do  jobs.  And  "the  ungainly"  points  exclu 
sively  at  some  quaint  lantern  countenances  who 
have  at  one  time  and  another  shocked  my  nerves 
and  nauseated  my  taste  by  their  hideous  aspects. 
With  cautious  explanation  we  advance  from  these 
degraded  stages  of  intellect,  this  doleful  frontis 
piece  of  creation,  to  prouder  orders  of  mind.  Or 
dinary  men  claim  the  intermittent  exercise  of  this 
power  of  beautiful  abstraction ;  but  to  the  souls 
only  of  the  mightiest  is  it  given  to  command  the 
disappearance  of  land  and  sea,  and  mankind  and 
things,  and  they  vanish.  Then  comes  the  En 
chanter  illuminating  the  glorious  vision  with  hues 
from  heaven,  granting  thoughts  of  other  worlds 
gilded  with  lustre  of  ravishment  and  delight,  till 


i8zo]  GEORGE   TICKNOR  65 

the  Hours,  teeming  with  loveliness  and  Joy,  roll 
by  uncounted.  Exulting  in  the  exercise  of  this 
prerogative,  the  poet,  truly  called  so,  has  entreated 
the  reluctant  permission. 

"And  forever  shalt  thou  dwell 
In  the  spirit  of  this  spell." 

October  6tb,  1820 

I  have  listened  this  evening  to  an  eloquent 
lecture  of  the  elegant  Professor  of  French  and 
Spanish  Literature1  on  the  subject  of  the  extent 
of  the  language,  a  subject  which  bears  on  the 
face  of  it  dullness  and  dread  —  every  soul 
present  warmly  acknowledged  the  force  of  de 
lineation  when  the  great  deluge  of  the  French 
language,  sweeping  down  all  the  feeble  barriers 
of  ephemeral  dialects,  carried  captive  the  lan 
guages  and  literature  of  all  Europe,  while  in  the 
commotions  of  politics  the  German  thrones  were 
dashed  to  pieces  against  each  other  on  this  great 
and  wide  sea. 

When  bounding  Fancy  leaves  the  clods  of  earth 

To  riot  in  the  regions  of  her  birth, 

i  George  Ticknor,  Smith  Professor  of  the  French  and  German 
Languages  and  Literature.  To  this  Chair  the  Corporation  and 
Overseers  added  a  Professorship  of  Belles  Letters.  Longfellow 
and  Lowell  were  in  turn  Mr.  Ticknor' s  successors. 


66  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

Where,  robed  in  light,  the  Genii  of  the  Stars 
Launch  in  refulgent  space  their  diamond  cars, 
Or  in  pavilions  of  celestial  pride, 
Serene  above  all  influence  beside, 
Vent  the  bold  joy  which  swells  the  glorious  soul 
Rich  with  the  rapture  of  secure  controul, 
Onward,  around,  their  golden  visions  stray 
Till  only  Glory  can  their  range  delay. 

Well,  I  began  with  prose  and  have  mustered 
up  ten  lines  of  poetry,  which  will  answer  rarely 
to  lighten  the  labour  of  the  next  theme.  It  is 
half  past  10,  and  time  to  put  away  The  Wide 
World  and  its  concerns,  and  consign  my  indolent 
limbs  to  comfortable  repose.  Ergo  cease,  my  pen, 

"  To  witch  the  world  with  noble  penmanship !  " 

October  iith. 

I  should  write  a  theme  this  morning,  but  cruel 
Destiny  forbids  the  thought  of  rainbow  colours 
to  rise.  I  want  to  write  poetry  to  add  to  "  When 
bounding,"  etc. 

October  i$th. 

Different  mortals  improve  resources  of  hap 
piness  which  are  entirely  different.  This  I  find 
more  apparent  in  the  familiar  instances  obvious 


i8zo]    EVERETT.     EXHIBITION        67 

at  college  recitations.  My  more  fortunate  neigh 
bours  exult  in  the  display  of  mathematical  study,1 
while  I,  after  feeling  the  humiliating  sense  of 
dependence  and  inferiority,  which,  like  the  goad 
ing,  soul-sickening  sense  of  extreme  poverty, 
palsies  effort,  esteem  myself  abundantly  com 
pensated,  if  with  my  pen,  I  can  marshal  whole 
catalogues  of  nouns  and  verbs,  to  express  to 
the  life  the  imbecility  I  felt.  .  .  . 

Mr.  Everett  says:  —  "the  shout  of  admira 
tion  is  lost  ere  it  reaches  the  arches  of  heaven, 
but  there  is  an  all-seeing  eye  which  looks  deep 
down  into  the  recesses  of  the  obscurest  heart. 
It  is  a  small  matter  to  abstain  from  vice  to  which 
there  is  no  temptation,  or  to  perform  a  virtue 
which  is  standing  by  you  with  crowns  for  your 
head;  but  it  is  the  obscure,  struggling  and  un 
successful  virtue  which  meets  with  reward." 

Exhibition  night.  This  tumultuous  day  is 
done.  The  character  of  its  thought-weather  is 

i  Just  before  entering  College,  the  young  Emerson  wrote  to 
his  elder  brother  William:  «« To  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  think  it 
necessary  to  understand  Mathematicks  and  Greek  thoroughly 
to  be  a  good"  and  useful,  or  even  a  great  man.  Aunt  Mary 
would  certainly  tell  you  so,  and  I  think  you  yourself  believe 
it,  if  you  did  not  think  it  a  dangerous  doctrine  to  tell  a  Fresh 
man.  But  do  not  be  afraid,  for  I  mean  to  study  them  through, 
but  with  equal  interest  to  other  studies." 

M 

>"* 


68  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

always  extremely  singular.  Fuller  than  any  other 
day  of  great  thoughts  and  poets'  dreams,  of  hope 
and  joy  and  pride,  and  then  closed  with  merri 
ment  and  wine,  evincing  or  eliciting  gay,  frater 
nal  feeling  enough,  but  brutalized  and  defiled 
with  excess  of  physical  enjoyment;  leaving  the 
mind  distracted  and  unfit  for  pursuits  of  sober 
ness.  Barnwell's  Oration  contained  sublime 
images.  —  One  was  of  great  power  —  a  terrible 
description  of  the  fire-tempest  which  over 
shadowed  Sodom  and  Gomorrha — another  de 
scription  of  the  waterspout  of  the  Pacific  was 
noble.  A  great  struggle  of  ambition  is  going  on 
between  Barnwell  and  Upham.1  Thundering 
and  lightning  are  faint  and  tame  descriptions  of 
the  course  of  astonishing  eloquence.  You  double 
the  force  of  painting  if  you  describe  it  as  it  is. 

i  Robert  Woodward  Barnwell,  of  South  Carolina,  later  a 
United  States  Senator,  and  President  of  South  Carolina  Col 
lege,  was  a  classmate  loved  and  admired.  After  the  Civil 
War,  which  had  greatly  reduced  his  fortunes,  his  Class  sent 
him  messages  of  affection,  accompanied,  I  think,  with  substan 
tial  aid  (of  course  unasked),  and  in  this  movement  Emerson 
was  active.  They  died  in  the  same  year. 

Charles  Wentworth  Upham  of  Salem,  author  of  a  work  on 
Salem  Witchcraft,  and  a  brother-in-law  of  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes, 
was  much  valued  by  Emerson.  They  were  in  the  Divinity 
School  together.  He  was  Mayor  of  Salem  and  a  member  of 
Congress. 


1820]  ELOQUENCE  69 

The  flashing  eye,  that  fills  up  the  chasms  of 
language,  the  living  brow,  throwing  meaning 
and  intellect  into  every  furrow  and  every  frown  ; 
the  stamping  foot,  the  labouring  limbs,  the  des 
perate  gesture,  these  must  all  be  seen  in  their 
strong  exercise,  before  the  vivid  conception  of 
their  effect  can  be  adequately  felt.  And  then  a 
man  must  separate  and  discipline  and  intoxicate 
his  mind  before  he  can  enjoy  the  glory  of  the 
orator,  when  mighty  thoughts  come  crowding 
on  the  soul;  he  must  learn  to  harrow  up  un 
welcome  recollections  and  concentrate  woe  and 
horror  and  disgust  till  his  own  heart  sickens  ;  he 
must  stretch  forth  his  arm  and  array  the  bright 
ideas  which  have  settled  around  him  till  they 
gather  to  forceful  and  appalling  sublimity. 


October 

I  begin  to  believe  in  the  Indian  doctrine  of  eye- 
fascination.  The  cold  blue  eye  of  -  has  so 
intimately  connected  him  with  my  thoughts  and 
visions  that  a  dozen  times  a  day,  and  as  often  by 
night,  I  find  myself  wholly  wrapt  up  in  conjec 
tures  of  his  character  and  inclinations.  We  have 
had  already  two  or  three  long  profound  stares  at 
each  other.  Be  it  wise  or  weak  or  superstitious, 
I  must  know  him. 


70  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

Perhaps  thy  lot  in  life  is  higher 

Than  the  Fates  assign  to  me, 
While  they  fulfil  thy  large  desire, 

And  bid  my  hopes  as  visions  flee. 
But  grant  me  still  in  joy  or  sorrow, 

In  grief  or  hope,  to  claim  thy  heart, 
And  I  will  then  defy  the  morrow 

Whilst  I  fulfil  a  loyal  part.1 

October  25. 

I  find  myself  often  idle,  vagrant,  stupid  and  hol 
low.  This  is  somewhat  appalling  and,  if  I  do  not 
discipline  myself  with  diligent  care,  I  shall  suffer 
severely  from  remorse  and  the  sense  of  inferiority 
hereafter.  All  around  me  are  industrious  and  will 
be  great,  I  am  indolent  and  shall  be  insignificant. 
Avert  it,  heaven  !  avert  it,  virtue  !  I  need  excite 
ment. 

November  i. 

My  opinion  of was  strangely  lowered  by 

hearing  that  he  was  "  proverbially  idle."  This 
was  redeemed  by  learning  that  he  was  a  "  supe 
rior  man."  This  week,  a  little  eventful  in  college, 
has  brought  a  share  of  its  accidents  to  him. 

i  These  verses  have  a  paper  over  them  arranged  so  that  it  can 
be  turned  up  ;  and  on  the  paper  is  an  india  ink  profile  and  bust, 
presumably  a  memory-sketch  of  Gay. 


/£y  i^r  to  lit*  u 


MEMORY  SKETCH  OF  MARTIN  GAY,  BY  EMERSON 

In  his  Journal  for  1821 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


i82o]  ENGRAVING  71 

November  2. 

What  a  grand  man  was  Milton!  so  marked  by 
nature  for  the  great  Epic  Poet  that  was  to  bear 
up  the  name  of  these  latter  times.  In  "Reason 
of  Church  Government  urged  against  Prelaty," 
written  while  young,  his  spirit  is  already  com 
muning  with  itself  and  stretching  out  in  its  colos 
sal  proportions  and  yearning  for  the  destiny  he 
was  appointed  to  fulfil. 

November  10. 

"  The  Abbot "  must  be  to  its  author  cc  a  source 
of  unmixed  delight  and  unchastened  pride." 

November  10. 
A  RECIPE!!  ! 

Young  Waldo,  when  in  your  thick-coming 
whims,  you  feel  an  itching  to  engrave,  take  a 
piece  of  glass  and  cover  it  with  a  thin  film  of 
wax  or  isinglass  and  trace  the  proposed  figure 
with  a  steel  point.  Place  this  over  a  vessel  con 
taining  a  mixture  of  powdered  fluor-spar,  and 
sulphuric  acid  gently  heated.  The  acid  gas  com 
ing  into  contact  with  the  uncovered  parts  of  the 
glass  combines  with  and  removes  the  silex,  as 
well  probably  as  the  alkali  with  which  it  is  united, 
and  lines  more  or  less  deep  are  thus  formed  — 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


72  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

according  to  Gorham's  Chemistry  (Article,  Sili 
con)  y  page  265,  volume  one. 

Observe  this.  Mr.  Everett  notices  that  a  tem 
perate  climate  has  always  been  found  necessary 
to  a  high  national  character. 

Also,  Mr.  Waldo,  if  you  would  like  to  find 
the  sublimest  attainable  sayings  on  the  destruc 
tion  of  nations,  Vide  4th  book  of  the  Sybilline 
Collections. 

November  i8/£. 

I  shall  subjoin  some  recipes  for  the  terrible 
void  which  ruins  ever  and  anon  the  mind's  peace, 
and  is  otherwise  called  Unhappiness. 

1.  Take  Scott's  Novels  and  read  carefully  the 
mottoes  of  the  chapters;  or,  if  you  prefer  read 
ing  a  novel  itself,  take  the  "Bride  of  Lammer- 
moor."  ' 

2.  Sometimes  (seldom)  the  finest  parts  of 
Cowper's  "Task"  will  answer  the  purpose.   I 
refer  to  the  home-scenes. 

3.  For  the  same  reason  that  I  would  take 
Scott's  mottoes,  I  would  also  take  an  old  tragedy 
such  as  Ben  Jonson's,  Otway's,  Congreve's;  in 

I  Although  Mr.  Emerson  seldom  read  a  novel  after  his 
youth,  and  cared  little  for  them,  especially  disliking  "  dismal 
stories,"  he  retained  through  life  his  early  affection  for  this 
novel,  forlorn  from  the  beginning,  and  most  tragic  in  the  end. 


ELOQUENCE  73 

short,  any  thing  of  that  kind  which  leads  as  far 
as  possible  from  the  usual  trains  of  thought. 
4.  Make  recipes  to  add  to  this  list. 


December  ^th,  1820. 

Here  at  Cambridge  in  my  cheerless  school 
room.1  Sunday  Evening  I  heard  Mr.  Everett 
preach  at  the  Old  South  a  chanty  sermon  — 
one  of  his  most  (perhaps  the  most)  eloquent 
efforts. 

•         ••••••• 

December  $tb. 

It  appears  to  me  that  it  is  a  secret  of  the  art 
of  eloquence  to  know  that  a  powerful  aid  would 
be  derived  from  the  use  of  forms  of  language 
which  were  generally  known  to  men  in  their  in 
fancy,  and  which  now,  under  another  and  un 
known  garb,  but  forcibly  reminding  them  of 
early  impressions,  are  likely  to  be  mistaken  for 
opinions  whose  beginning  they  cannot  recollect, 
and  therefore  suppose  them  innate.  At  least,  if 
by  such  operation  they  cannot  convince  the 

I  It  was  tfhen  the  custom,  which  continued  for  nearly  forty 
years  afterward,  to  allow  the  poorer  students  to  help  them 
selves  through  College  by  teaching,  often  far  from  Cambridge, 
during  their  college  course,  presenting  themselves  at  due  time 
for  examinations. 


74  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

mind,  they  may  serve  to  win  attention  by  this 
awakening  but  ambiguous  charm.  By  these 
forms  of  language  I  mean  a  paraphrase  of  some 
sentence  in  a  Primer  or  other  child's  book  com 
mon  to  the  country.  The  spell  would  be  more 
perfect,  perhaps,  if,  instead  of  such  a  paraphrase, 
the  words  of  a  sentence  should  be  modulated  to 
the  cadence  of  the  aforesaid  infant  literature.  I 
dare  not  subjoin  an  example.1 

The  human  soul,  the  world,  the  universe  are 
labouring  on  to  their  magnificent  consumma 
tion.  We  are  not  fashioned  thus  marvellously 
for  naught.  The  straining  conceptions  of  man, 
the  monuments  of  his  reason  and  the  whole 
furniture  of  his  faculties  is  [sic]  adapted  to 
mightier  views  of  things  than  the  mightiest  he 
has  yet  beheld.  Roll  on,  then,  thou  stupendous 
Universe,  in  sublime,  incomprehensible  solitude, 
in  an  unbeheld  but  sure  path.  The  finger  of  God 
is  pointing  out  your  way.  And  when  ages  shall 
have  elapsed  and  time  is  no  more,  while  the  stars 
shall  fall  from  heaven  and  the  Sun  become  dark 
ness  and  the  moon  blood,  human  intellect,  puri- 

I  Here  a  water-colour  of  the  "  Three  Wise  men  of  Go- 
shen  "  [Gotham]  at  sea  in  their  bowl  —  all  with  the  "  mutton- 
chop  "  whiskers  of  the  day. 


i82o]        SCHOOL.     FUTURITY  75 

fied  and  sublimed,  shall  mount  to  perfection  of 
unmeasured  and  ineffable  enjoyment  of  know 
ledge  and  glory.  Man  shall  come  to  the  presence 
of  Jehovah.  (In  the  manner  of  Chateaubriand.) 


December 

I  claim  and  clasp  a  moment's  respite  from 
this  irksome  school  to  saunter  in  the  fields  of 
my  own  wayward  thought.  The  afternoon  was 
gloomy  and  preparing  to  snow,  —  dull,  ugly 
weather.  But  when  I  came  out  from  the  hot, 
steaming,  stoved,  stinking,  dirty,  A-B  spelling- 
school-room,  I  almost  soared  and  mounted  the 
atmosphere  at  breathing  the  free  magnificent 
air,  the  noble  breath  of  life.  It  was  a  delightful 
exhilaration  ;  but  it  soon  passed  off. 

It  is  impossible  that  the  distribution  of  re 
wards  hereafter  should  not  be  in  gradation. 
How  inconsistent  with  justice  would  it  be  that 
all  the  boundless  varieties  of  desert  and  condi 
tion  should  be  levelled  to  a  single  lot  —  all, 
from  the  agonized  martyr,  who  was  sawn  asun 
der  for  the  faith,  to  the  deathbed  of  a  modern 
Christian,  where  a  soul  which  was  never  tempted, 
and  a  sinless  innocence  which  was  never  tried, 
has  sighed  out  a  harmless  life  on  beds  of  down 
and  accompanied  and  piloted  to  heaven  by  the 


76  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

prayerful  sympathy  of  the  saints  on  earth.  (In 
the  manner  of  Everett.) 

The  other  day  read  Edinburgh  Review  of 
Drummond's  "  Academic  Questions."  The  re 
view  and  the  reviewed  are  both  beautiful  speci 
mens  of  an  elegant  metaphysical  style. 

Attended  Mr.  Ticknor's  Lecture  on  Vol 
taire. 

1821 

January  ytb,  1821. 

Have  heard  to-day  another  consecrated  dis 
play  of  genius — of  the  insinuating  and  over 
whelming  effect  of  eloquent  manners  and  style, 
when  made  sacred  and  impregnable  by  the  sub 
ject  which  they  are  to  enforce  —  Mr.  Everett's 
sermon  before  the  Howard  Benevolent  Society. 
He  told  a  very  affecting  anecdote.  <CI  have 
known  a  woman  in  this  town  go  out  to  work 
with  her  own  hands  to  pay  for  the  wooden 
coffin  which  was  to  enclose  the  dust  of  her  only 
child.  I  prayed  with  her  when  there  was  none 
to  stand  by  her  but  he  who  was  to  bear  that 
dust  to  the  tomb." 

There  was  a  vast  congregation,  but  while  he 
spoke  as  silent  as  death.  Unluckily,  in  the 
pauses,  however,  they  shook  the  house  with 


1821]  AUNT    MARY  77 

their  hideous  convulsions;  for  when  he  raised 
his  handkerchief  to  his  face  after  a  pause  in  the 
sermon,  it  seemed  almost  a  concerted  signal  for 
the  Old  South  to  cough. 

Let  those  now  cough  who  never  coughed  before, 
And  those  who  always  cough,  cough  now  the  more. 

February  ytb. 

The  religion  of  my  Aunt I  is  the  purest  and 
most  sublime  of  any  I  can  conceive.  It  appears 
to  be  based  on  broad  and  deep  and  remote  prin 
ciples  of  expediency  and  adequateness  to  an  end 
—  principles  which  few  can  comprehend  and 
fewer  feel.  It  labours  to  reconcile  the  apparent 
insignificancy  of  the  field  to  the  surpassing  gran 
deur  of  the  Operator,  and  founds  the  benignity 
and  Mercy  of  the  Scheme  on  adventurous  but 
probable  comparisons  of  the  condition  of  other 
orders  of  being.  Although  it  is  an  intellectual 
offspring  of  beauty  and  splendour,  if  that  were 
all,  it  breathes  a  practical  spirit  of  rigid  and  aus 
tere  devotion.  It  is  independent  of  forms  and 
ceremonies,  and  its  ethereal  nature  gives  a  glow 

i  Miss  Mary  Moody  Emerson,  his  inspiring  correspondent 
and  severe,  though  loving  and  secretly  proud,  critic.  His 
sketch  of  her  is  printed  in  vol.  x  (Lectures  and  Biographical 
Sketches}  of  his  Works. 


78  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

of  soul  to  her  whole  life.  She  is  the  Weird- 
woman  of  her  religion,  and  conceives  herself 
always  bound  to  walk  in  narrow  but  exalted 
paths,  which  lead  onward  to  interminable  re 
gions  of  rapturous  and  sublime  glory. 


March 

I  am  reading  Price,  on  Morals,  and  intend 
to  read  it  with  care  and  commentary.  I  shall 
set  down  here  what  remarks  occur  to  me  upon 
the  matter  or  manner  of  his  argument.  On  the 
56th  page,  Dr.  Price  says  that  right  and  wrong 
are  not  determined  by  any  reasoning  or  deduc 
tion,  but  by  the  ultimate  perception  of  the 
human  mind.  It  is  to  be  desired  that  this  were 
capable  of  satisfactory  proof,  but,  as  it  is  in  di 
rect  opposition  to  the  sceptical  philosophy,  it 
cannot  stand  unsupported  by  strong  and  suffi 
cient  evidence.  I  will  however  read  more  and 
see  if  it  is  proved  or  no.  —  He  saith  that  the 
Understanding  is  this  ultimate  determiner. 

CAMBRIDGE,  March  25. 

Sabbath. 

I  am  sick  —  if  I  should  die  what  would  be 
come  of  me  ?  We  forget  ourselves  and  our  des 
tinies  in  health,  and  the  chief  use  of  temporary 


i8zi]  PRAYER  79 

sickness  is  to  remind  us  of  these  concerns.  I 
must  improve  my  time  better.  I  must  prepare 
myself  for  the  great  profession  I  have  purposed 
to  undertake.  I  am  to  give  my  soul  to  God  and 
withdraw  from  sin  and  the  world  the  idle  or 
vicious  time  and  thoughts  I  have  sacrificed  to 
them ;  and  let  me  consider  this  as  a  resolution 
by  which  I  pledge  myself  to  act  in  all  variety  of 
circumstances,  and  to  which  I  must  recur  often  in 
times  of  carelessness  and  temptation,  to  measure 
my  conduct  by  the  rule  of  conscience. 

CAMBRIDGE,  April  i. 

It  is  Sabbath  again,  and  I  am  for  the  most  part 
recovered.  Is  it  a  wise  dispensation  that  we  can 
never  know  what  influence  our  own  prayers  have 
in  restoring  the  health  we  have  prayed  God  to 
restore  ?  It  has  been  thought  by  some  that  in 
these  immediate  effects  they  have  no  influence; 
in  general,  that  their  good  is  prospective  and  that 
the  world  is  governed  by  Providence  through 
the  instrumentality  of  general  laws,  which  are 
only  broken  on  the  great  occasions  of  the  world 
or  other  portions  of  the  Creator's  works.  But 
what  have  I  wandered  from  ?  I  think  that  it  in 
finitely  removes  heavenly  dispensations  from 
earthly  ones.  This  manner  of  giving  gifts  with- 


8o  JOURNAL  [AGE  17 

out  expressing  the  reason  for  which  they  are  be 
stowed,  and  leaving  it  to  the  heart  to  make  the 
application,  and  to  discover  the  giver,  is  worthy 
of  a  supreme,  ineffable  intelligence. 

Well,  I  am  sorry.  .  .  .  The  anecdote  which 

I  accidentally  heard  of shews  him  more  like 

his  neighbours  than  I  should  wish  him  to  be.  I 
shall  have  to  throw  him  up  after  all,  as  a  cheat  of 
fancy.  Before  I  ever  saw  him,  I  wished  my  friend 
to  be  different  from  any  individual  I  had  seen. 
I  invested  him  with  a  solemn  cast  of  mind,  full 
of  poetic  feeling,  and  an  idolater  of  friendship, 
and  possessing  a  vein  of  rich  sober  thought. 

For  a  year  I  have  entertained  towards  him  the 
same  feelings  and  should  be  sorry  to  lose  him 
altogether  before  we  have  ever  exchanged  above 
a  dozen  words. 

May  i. 

I  am  more   puzzled  than  ever  with  's 

conduct.  He  came  out  to  meet  me  yesterday, 
and  I,  observing  him,  just  before  we  met,  turned 
another  corner  and  most  strangely  avoided  him. 
This  morning  I  went  out  to  meet  him  in  a  dif 
ferent  direction,  and  stopped  to  speak  with  a 

lounger,  in  order  to  be  directly  in 'sway; 

but turned  into    the  first  gate  and  went 


1821]        EVERETT'S   SERMON  81 

towards  Stoughton.  All  this  [took  place  (?)] 
without  any  apparent  design  and  as  [soberly  (?)] 
as  if  both  were  intent  on  some  tremendous 

affair.1 

May  loth. 

Huzza,  for  my  Magician !  he  engages  me  finely.2 
I  am  as  interested  in  the  tale  and  as  anxious  to 
know  the  end  as  any  other  reader  could  be.  By 
the  by,  this  tale  of  mine  might  be  told  with 
powerful  effect  by  a  man  of  good  voice  and  nat 
ural  eloquence. 

June  10. 

Mr.  Everett, in  his  Artillery  Election  sermon, 
to  preface  his  own  prophecy  that  the  century 
now  begun  (i.  e.  third  century  since  the  Plym 
outh  landing)  will  be  the  most  important  in 
determining  the  future  fates  of  America,  told 
this  story  :  —  In  1417,  when  Huss  was  bound  to 
the  stake  at  Prague,  he  declared  amid  his  tor- 

1  All  the  above  paragraph  was  purposely  obscured  with 
heavy  ink-marks.   The  bracketed  words,  however,  are  the  only 
doubtful  ones. 

2  This  was  a  romance  on  which  the  young  Emerson  was 
for  the  moment  working.   In  the  page  or  so  of  it  which  re 
mains  in  one  of  his  blotting-books,  King  Richard  Cceur  de 
Leon,  worn  out  and  sick,  is  confessing  to  a  friar  how  the  pre 
sumptuous  sins  of  his  youth  have  been  punished  by  haunting 
remorse. 


82  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

tures  that  after  a  hundred  years  a  retribution 
should  be  made  on  papacy.  The  inhabitants  of 
Prague  wrote  his  words  "Post  centum  annos" 
upon  their  standard  and  in  their  records,  and  in 
1517  the  Reformation  by  Luther  began. 

Books  Lent 

Kett's  Elements,  both  vols.,  to  Angier. 
Telemaque,  to  Stackpole  i. 
Lacroix,  to  Gutterson. 
Locke,  2.  Vol.,  to  Hill. 
Ill  and  IV  Cantoes  of  Childe  Harold,— both 

lost. 

Guy  Mannering,  to  Lane. 
Rhyming  Dictionary,  to  Williams,  A.  B. 
Blair's  Rhetoric  (abridgement),  to  Hooper. 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  Lothrop. 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  to  Idem. 
Adams's  Antiquities. 

Books  Inquirenda 

Mather's  Magnalia. 

Dunlop's  History  of  Fiction. 

Mattaire. 

Swift.    Froissart. 

Davy's  Chemistry. 

Teignmouth's  life  of  Jones. 

Simmon's  life  of  Milton.  3  Vol.  of  Brit.  Plutarch. 


1821]  BOOKS  83 

Chaucer. 

Montaigne's  Essays. 

Germany  (Stael). 

Drummond's  Academical  Questions. 

Price,  on  Morals. 

Humboldt's  Work  on  America. 

Smith's  Virginia. 

Robertson's  S.  America. 

History  of  Philip  II. 

Life  of  Shakspeare. 

Subjects  for  themes 

Destruction  of  a  city  ;  poetry. 

(Forensic)  Whether  Civil  Government  be 
founded  on  a  compact  expressed  or  implied. 

The  domestic  relations  as  restraints  on  an  ad 
venturous  spirit. 

Influence  of  weather  on  intellectual  tempera 
ment. 

Character  of  any  fancy  portrait,  as  for  instance, 


i  The  hand  points  to  a  respectable  sketch  of  a  man  of  a  some 
what  classic  type,  his  head  filleted,  and  below  him  a  sea- 
monster  with  the  feet,  just  bitten  from  the  man,  in  his  mouth. 
In  place  of  these  the  man  has  miraculously  grown  a  trifid  fish 
tail  on  which  he  stands  gracefully,  and,  looking  down  on 
the  monster  with  philosophic  scorn,  is  saying  (on  a  scroll), 
'« My  feet  are  gone.  I  am  a  fish.  Yes,  I  am  a  fish." 


84  JOURNAL  [AGE  16-18 

AUTHORS  OR  BOOKS  QUOTED  OR  REFERRED  TO 
IN  JOURNALS  OF  1820  AND  1821 

Bible,  Apocrypha. 

Pythagoras;  Anaxagoras;  Aristotle; 

Xenophon's  and  Plato's  accounts  of  Socrates; 

Homer;  j^Eschylus;  Sophocles;  Euripides; 
Aristophanes;  Archelaus ;  Theocritus  (apud 
Kennet's  Greek  Poets). 

Cicero  ;  Lucretius  ;  Virgil ;  Horace  ;  Epic- 
tetus;  Arrian;  Marcus  Antoninus;  Epicurus; 

Zendavesta,  (apud  Gibbon) ; 

Arthurian  Romances ;  De  Joinville,  Chronicle 
of  St.  Louis; 

Plays  and  Masques  of  Shakespeare,  Ben  Jon- 
son  (The  Alchymist),  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
Massinger,  Otway; 

Bacon,  Novum  Organum; 

Milton,  Paradise  Lost,  Comusy  Samson  Ago 
nist  es  ; 

Rev.  Isaac  Barrow; 

Montaigne,  Essays;  Montesquieu,  Lettres 
Persanes;  Chateaubriand; 

Cowper,  'Task;  Dryden,  Absalom  and  Achi- 
tophel ; 

Corneille;  Racine; 

Hobbes;  Swift;  Sterne;  Addison;  Pope; 


i82o-2i]  READING  85 

Descartes;  Cudworth;  Locke;  Woolaston ; 
Shaftsbury ; 

Mosheim;  Hume,  Essays;  Priestly;  Paley; 
Dugald  Stewart;  Dr.  Reid;  Dr.  Price,  On  Mor 
als;  Mellen,  On  Divine  Vengeance;  Forsyth, 
Principles  of  Moral  Science  ;  Bishop  Hall. 

Johnson,  Lives  of  the  Poets ; 

Gibbon,  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  ; 

Burke,  Regicide  Peace;  Bissel,  Life  of  Burke  ; 

Edward  Search's  [Abraham  Tucker]  Writ 
ings. 

Sismondi,  History  of  the  Italian  Republics; 

Scott,  Guy  Mannering,  Old  Mortality ,  Monas 
tery,  and  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border ; 

Lockhart,  Spanish  Ballads  ; 

Moore,  Lalla  Rookh ;  Campbell,  Poems ; 

Wordsworth,  Excursion;  Southey,  Curse  of 
Kehama  ; 

Byron,  Manfred,  Corsair,  and  Childe  Harold; 

Charles  Lamb,  Essays  ; 

Maclaurin,  Life  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton; 

Dean  Milman,  Samor,  the  Lord  of  the  Bright 
City,  and  Fall  of  Jerusalem  ; 

Hillhouse,  Percy's  Masque ; 

Bryant,  Waterfowl,  and  Murdered  Traveller; 

Edward  Everett's  Lectures ; 

Edinburgh  and  Quarterly  Reviews. 


86  JOURNAL  [AGE  16-18 

THE    UNIVERSE 

[During  the  years  1820  and  1821  Emerson 
kept  a  Quotation  Book,  named  as  above,  made 
up  of  passages  from  his  miscellaneous  reading  in 
the  College  Library  or  whatever  other  treasure- 
houses  of  letters  were  open  to  him.  These  pas 
sages  are  neatly  copied  in  a  small  hand  on  folio 
sheets,  numbered,  which  were  afterwards  folded 
once  and  placed  in  a  cover.  The  range  is  some 
what  remarkable  and  a  list  is  given  below.] 

Spenser's  View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud 
Warton. 

Diversions  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  maids  of 
honor;  Harrison,  apud  Hollinsbed ys  Chronicle. 

Verses  of  Homer,  sung  by  him  and  a  chorus 
of  boys  before  the  houses  of  the  rich  men  in 
Samos ;  original  Greek  and  a  metrical  rendering, 
apud  Basil  Rennet's  Lives  and  Characters  of  the 
Greek  Poets,  1697. 

Pope  Gregory  VII's  Excommunication  of  the 
Emperor  Henry  IV,  apud  Berington's  Abelard 
and  Heloisa. 

Queen  Elizabeth's  infatuation  for  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  apud  Camden's  Annales  Elizabetbae. 

Extract  from  a  scene  in  Byron's  Manfred. 

Chaucer's  account  of  his  sufferings  in  prison. 


i82o-2i]  READING  87 

Extract  from  letter  of  Cicero  to  Plancus,  Mid- 
dleton's  Cicero. 

Extract  from  poem  by  Cornwall,  describing  a 
pauper's  burial. 

Close  of  the  conference  between  the  Jewess 
Rebecca  and  Brian  de  Bois  Gilbert,  in  Scott's 
Ivanboe. 

Death  and  funeral  of  Spenser,  Camden. 

Erasmus's  (Latin)  epigram  to  Sir  T.  More, 
when  he  did  not  return  the  borrowed  horse  of 
the  latter. 

Alleged  epitaph  written  by  Virgil  for  him 
self. 

The  pedantry  of  the  times  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
Warton. 

On  the  Art  of  Rhetorick,  Richard  Wilson, 
apud  Burnett. 

On  Bessarion,  by  Marcus  Ficinus,  apudHody, 
De  Graecis  Illustribus. 

Suppressed  passage  from  Soliloquy  of  Bertram 
in  play  by  Maturin,  apud  Edinburgh  Review. 

Passage  from  Shipwreck  in  Byron's  Don  Juan. 

Extract  from  Sermon  of  Rev.  Isaac  Barrow, 
on  comparative  ineffectiveness  of  Human  Laws. 

Concerning  Shakespeare.  Ben  Jonson's  Dis 
coveries. 

Concerning  Bacon. 


88  JOURNAL  [AGE  16-18 

Collins's  Ode,  "How  sleep  the  brave." 

Extract  from  Hebrew  Melodies,  Byron. 

Meg  Merrilies'  denunciation  of  the  Laird  of 
Ellangowan.  Her  prophecy  of  good  to  his  son. 
Guy  Mannering. 

On  shaking  off  Cupid's  yoke,  and  on  Emula 
tion  ;  Shakespeare's  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

Song  of  Runic  Bard  [quoted  later  in  "  Poetry 
and  Imagination"  in  Letters  and  Social  Aims, 
p.  59],  Godwin. 

Sforza's  speech  on  his  misfortunes.  Duke  of 
Milan;  Massinger. 

Meditation  on  Conscience;  Bishop  Hall. 

Concluding  passage  of  C.  W.  Upham's  Ora 
tion,  Exhibition,  Aug.  1820. 

The  shadowing  out  of  Paradise  Lost ;  a  long 
extract  from  Milton's  Reason  of  Church  Govern 
ment  urged  against  Prelaty,  beginning  "  Although 
a  poet,  soaring  in  the  high  region  of  his  fancies, 
with  his  garland  and  singing  robes  about  him  " 
etc. 

Speech  of  Sir  Bohort  over  the  dead  body  of 
Lancelot.  Ellis's  Specimens  of  Early  English  Ro 
mances. 

'The  Mourning  Bride  ;  Congreve. 

The  power  of  Chance  in  human  inventions ; 
Bacon's  Novum  Organum  (Part  2  Section  II). 


i8io-2i]  READING  89 

Epitaph  on  Pizarro  ;  Southey. 

Long  Extract  from  Idealist;  DrummoncTs 
Academical  Questions. 

Reasonings  a  priori ;  Moral  Outline,  Dugald 
Stewart. 

The  angels  the  guides  of  the  heavenly  bodies ; 
sermon  of  Jeremy  Taylor. 

Dialogue  between  a  tyrant  and  a  Stoic ;  Arrian, 
Priestley's  translation. 

Favourite  passage,  beginning  "The  unearthly 
voices  ceased  "  in  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Min 
strel \  Canto  I. 

Dreams,  from  The  Castle  of  Indolence ',  Thom 
son. 

Extracts  from  Scenes  between  Viola  and  the 
Duke,  in  Twelfth  Night,  Shakespeare. 

Spenser's  lamentation;  Mother  Rubber  dJs 
Tale. 

The  Nightingale ;  Thomson's  Seasons. 

Extract  from  the  Magnalia  Christi  of  Cotton 
Mather,  as  to  the  number  of  settlers  in  Massa 
chusetts  Bay. 

Lord  Bacon's  expostulation  with  Queen  Eliza 
beth,  in  a  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Devonshire. 

Song  from  Gipsies  Metamorphosed,  Ben  Jonson. 

"  Ode  to  Melancholy";  The  Passionate  Mad 
man,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 


90  JOURNAL  [AGE  16-18 

Extract  from  Lord  Herries  Complaint,  C.  K. 
Sharpe,  apud  Drake's  Essays. 

The  Origin  of  Fable ;  Eloge  de  Fontaine. 

The  Mariner's  Dream. 

Song  of  the  Clown,  Twelfth  Night. 

The  Lombards'  loss  of  opportunity  to  es 
tablish  federated  republics;  Hallam's  Middle 
Ages. 

Decline  of  Ecclesiastical  Power  of  Rome; 
Hallam's  Middle  Ages. 

The  defensive  power  and  successes  of  feder 
ated  republics.  Sismondi,  Histoire  des  Repub- 
liques  Italiens  du  Moyen  Age. 

The  bad  omens  attending  the  commencement 
of  hostilities  when  Charles  I  set  up  his  standard 
at  Nottingham;  Clarendon's  History. 

The  character  of  Cromwell ;  Clarendon  s  His 
tory. 

To  the  herb  Rosemary;  H.  Kirke  White. 

Preface  to  one  of  Elizabeth's  costly  masques ; 
Ben  Jonson. 

To  a  Waterfowl,  William  Cullen  Bryant. 

Close  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire ;  from  Gibbon's  Memoirs  of  his  own  Life 
and  Writings. 

A  student's  thought  compared  to  a  river  which 


1820-21]  READING  91 

one  undertakes  to  dam ;  Tucker's  ("  Edward 
Search")  Light  of  Nature. 

Deliberation  and  investigation  compared  to 
the  hunting  of  a  hound;  Tucker. 


JOURNAL 

TEACHER 


JOURNAL  V 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.  3 

[EMERSON  seems  to  have  kept  no  journal  for 
the  last  half  of  1821. 

He  had  graduated  in  the  summer  of  1821, 
number  thirty  in  a  class  of  fifty-nine.  His  actual 
scholarship  in  the  required  branches  must  have 
been  much  lower,  for  it  must  be  remembered 
that  any  misconduct  might  remove  a  greater  or 
less  number  of  marks  for  recitations.  Hence  a 
boy  of  quiet  disposition  might  stand  in  the  end 
much  higher  than  a  brilliant  but  disorderly  one. 
But  Emerson,  none  the  less,  had,  night  and  day, 
been  educating  himself  in  his  own  way.  He  came 
just  within  the  number  of  those  to  whom  "  parts  " 
at  Commencement  were  assigned,  and  in  those 
days  they  were  always  delivered.  His  was  the 
Character  of  John  Knox,  in  a  Colloquy  on  Knox, 
Penn,  and  Wesley,  in  which  function  he  is  said 
to  have  been  rather  negligent.  He  was  Class 
Poet,  a  doubtful  honour,  as  at  least  six  had  been 
asked  before  him,  and  refused. 

His  brother  William,  who  graduated  in  1818, 
was  doing  his  best  to  maintain  the  family,  and  it 


96  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

became  Waldo's  duty  to  help,  for  the  case  was 
urgent.  William,  aged  twenty-two,  had  recently 
opened  a  finishing  school  for  young  4adies,  in 
Boston,  at  his  mother's  house,  and  now  offered 
his  brother,  aged  eighteen,  the  place  of  assistant. 
It  was  a  trying  place  for  a  bashful  boy,  unused  to 
girls,  but  he  accepted.  (See  Cabot's  Memoirs, 
pages  69-72  and  86.)] 

BOSTON,  January  12,  1822. 

After  a  considerable  interval  I  am  still  will 
ing  to  think  that  these  commonplace  books  are 
very  useful  and  harmless  things, — at  least  suffi 
ciently  so,  to  warrant  another  trial. 

CONTRAST 

The  principle  of  Contrast  which  we  find 
engraven  within —  .  .  .  how  came  it  there, 
whence  did  we  derive  it?  Either  the  Deity  has 
written  it  as  one  of  his  laws  upon  the  human 
mind,  or  we  have  derived  it  from  an  observation 
of  the  invariable  course  of  human  affairs.  .  .  . 

In  this  principle  is  lodged  the  safety  of  human 
institutions  and  human  life.  For  suppose  ambi 
tion  excite  against  the  peace  of  the  world  one  of 
those  incarnate  fiends  which  have,  at  different  pe 
riods,  arisen  to  destroy  the  peace  and  good  order 


1822]  AUNT    MARY  97 

of  one  community  after  another,  and  of  nation 
after  nation.  Gradually  the  lust  of  excess  engen 
dered  by  sudden  prosperity  debauches  every 
virtue  and  steals  away  the  Moral  sense.  The  in 
solence  of  power  tramples  upon  the  laws  of  God 
and  the  rights  of  man.  .  .  .  Here,  when  the 
day  of  triumph  burns  with  consuming  splendour 
—  here,  the  mind  itself  pauses  to  anticipate 
change  near  at  hand.  The  victor  must  cease. 
Else  would  the  very  stones  cry  out.  Day  and 
Night  contend  against  him ;  the  Elements  which 
he  wielded  rebel  and  crush  him;  the  clouds 
nurse  their  thunders  to  blast  him;  he  is  lifted 
up  on  rebellious  spears  between  heaven  and 
earth  unworthy  and  abhorred  of  both,  to  perish. 

TNAMURYA1 

"When  that  spell  which  can  only  be  felt  is 
thrown  over  the  soul  by  the  magic  of  genius, 

I  Shift  the  letters  of  this  word  about,  and  they  spell  "Aunt 
Mary. ' '  Her  nephew  thus  marks  the  frequent  passages  from  her 
letters  to  him  which  he  copies  into  his  journals.  Years  later  he 
wrote  a  sketch  of  the  life  of  this  remarkable  woman,  his  Sibyl. 
She.  was  his  father's  younger  sister,  and  daughter  of  William 
Emerson,  the  young  minister  of  Concord  in  the  days  of  the 
Revolution.  In  her  infant  ears  had  rung  the  noise  of  the  firing 
at  Concord  Fight,  close  by  the  Manse.  Her  letters  to  her 
nephew  Ralph,  whom  she  idolized,  continued  through  years 


98  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

c  Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  where  all 
is  boundless  genius — or  let  us  tarry  forever  in 
this  grave,  if  thus  illuminated/  is  the  adoring 
language  of  the  heart.  Is  it  not  a  well  known 
principle  of  human  nature  that  moments  of  en 
thusiasm  can  produce  sacrifices  which  demand  no 
proportionate  virtue  to  those  which  never  pre 
tend  to  fame?"  .  .  . 

RELIGION 

The  invisible  connection  between  heaven  and 
earth,  the  solitary  principle  which  unites  intel 
lectual  beings  to  an  account  and  makes  of  men 
moral  beings  — religion  —  is  distinct  and  pecul 
iar,  alike  in  its  origin  and  in  its  end,  from  all 
other  relations.  It  is  essential  to  the  Universe. 
You  seek  in  vain  to  contemplate  the  order  of 
things  apart  from  its  existence.  You  can  no  more 
banish  this  than  you  can  separate  from  yourself 
the  notions  of  Space  and  Duration.  Through  all 
the  perverse  mazes  and  shadows  of  infidelity  the 

from  remote  New  England  towns  where  she  boarded,  were  one 
of  the  strongest  influences  of  the  earlier  part  of  his  life,  quicken 
ing  and  enlarging  his  thoughts  and  also  provoking  him  to  defend 
its  independence.  His  deep  debt  to  her  he  always  acknowledged. 
See  "  Mary  Moody  Emerson,"  in  his  Lectures  and  Biographi 
cal  Sketches." 


1822]  RELIGION  99 

Light  still  makes  itself  visible,  until  the  reluc 
tant  mind  shudders  to  acknowledge  the  eternal 
encompassing  presence  of  Deity.  If  you  can  ab 
stract  it  from  the  Universe,  the  Soul  is  bewil 
dered  by  a  system  of  things  of  which  no  account 
can  be  given  ;  instances  of  tremendous  power  — 
and  no  hand  found  to  form  them;  a  thousand 
creations  in  a  thousand  spheres  all  pointing  up 
ward  to  a  single  point  —  and  no  object  there  to 
see  and  receive  —  it  is  all  a  vast  anomaly.  Re 
store  Religion  and  you  give  to  those  energies  a 
sublime  object.  .  .  . 

The  History  of  Religion  involves  circum 
stances  of  remarkable  interest,  and  it  is  almost 
all  that  we  are  able  to  trace  in  the  passage  of  the 
remote  ages  of  the  world.  It  is  a  beautiful  pic 
ture,  and  just  as  it  should  be,  that  in  the  charac 
ter  of  Noah,  of  Abraham,  and  the  early  deni 
zens  of  the  world,  we  trace  no  feature  which 
does  not  belong  peculiarly  to  their  religion;  — 
it  was  their  life.  It  was  natural  that  when  the 
mountains  were  just  swelling  upward  under  the 
hand  of  the  Creator,  when  his  bow  was  just  built 
and  painted  in  the  sky,  when  the  stone-tables 
were  yet  unbroken  by  Moses  which  now  lie 
mouldering  in  fragments  upon  Sinai  —  that  Men 
should  walk  with  God.  As  we  come  downward 


ioo  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

and  leave  the  immediate  precincts  of  the  taber- 
nacle,  although  we  become  sensible  of  the  pro- 
gressive  departure  from  the  truth,  yet  each  super 
stition  retains  the  inherent  beauty  of  the  first 
form,  disguised  and  defaced,  in  some  degree,  by 
ill-adjusted  and  needless  apparel.  Indeed,  the 
only  records  by  which  the  early  ages  of  any  na 
tion  are  remembered  is  their  religion.  We  know 
nothing  of  the  first  empires  which  grasped  the 
sceptre  of  the  earth  in  Egypt,  Assyria,  or  Persia, 
but  their  modes  of  worship.  And  this  fact  for 
cibly  suggests  the  idea  that  the  only  true  and 
legitimate  vehicle  of  immortality,  the  only  bond 
of  connection  which  can  traverse  the  long  dura 
tion  which  separates  the  ends  of  the  world  and 
unites  the  first  people  to  the  knowledge  and  sym 
pathy  of  the  last  people,  is  religion. 

We  have  said  that  the  first  nations  were  re 
membered  by  their  religion  ;  and  in  tracing  down 
their  history  a  little  farther  until  the  time  of  writ 
ten  languages,  we  find  that  the  first  efforts  which 
the  human  genius  made  to  commit  its  ideas  to 
permanent  signs  were  exercised  upon  the  great 
topic  which  stood  uppermost  in  an  unperverted 
mind.  Poetry  attempted  to  fashion  a  probable 
picture  of  the  Creation,  to  explore  the  character 
of  Providence,  to  impress  upon  mankind  the 


i822]  RELIGION  101 

enlightened  views  of  a  moral  government  in  the 
world  which  had  been  disclosed  to  her  own  eye. 

But  the  date  of  writing  marks  the  second  age 
in  the  history  of  Religion,  and  we  have  parted 
from  the  more  attractive  memory  of  the  first. 
The  naked  savage  who  ascends  the  mountain, — 
because  the  dusky  summit  inclines  him  to  be 
lieve  that  the  Great  Spirit  inhabits  there,  —  and 
erects  a  stone  as  his  simple  and  sincere  tribute 
to  the  Majesty  of  that  being,  is  an  object  infi 
nitely  more  agreeable  to  our  imagination  and 
feelings  than  the  loftier  and  more  excellent  offer 
ing  of  lettered  Science.  And  although  reason 
teaches  us  that  the  deliberate  devotion  of  a  phi 
losophic  mind  is  more  worth  than  the  vague  fears 
of  a  superstitious  one,  yet  we  are  apt  to  inquire 
if  the  pride  of  learning  has  not  been  known  to 
harden  the  mind  even  to  the  plain  proofs  of 
Divine  Providence. 

The  difference  between  the  primitive  forms  of 
religion  and  the  second  dispensation  (and  like 
wise  the  first)  consisted  in  this,  that  the  first  were 
the  voluntary  offerings  of  the  imagination  and  the 
understanding  to  a  sublime  but  unseen  Spirit, 
and  the  last  were  the  implicit  submissions  of 


102  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

duty,  of  custom,  of  fear.  For  this  reason  we  sym 
pathize  more  with  the  savage. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that,  in  the  simple 
institutions  of  the  barbarous  nations,  God  was 
worshipped  through  sublime  and  awful  images, 
and  nothing  mean  and  disgusting  was  attributed 
to  his  character.  It  were  needless  to  repeat  that 
Caesar  found  the  German  nations  without  idols, 
deeming  it  unworthy  to  build  a  house  for  him 
that  made  the  Universe; — or  to  transcribe  the 
Indian  creed  of  the  Great  Spirit,  so  scrupulously 
pure  that  it  rejected  what  it  could  not  reconcile 
of  an  evil  world  to  a  Benevolent  Cause,  and  cre 
ated  an  opposite  active  evil  Principle  on  which  to 
pile  the  sin  and  the  storm,  pain  and  death  which 
beset  human  life.  Such  also  was  the  Persian 
faith,  which  thought  the  Fire  no  unfit  emblem 
of  Divinity ;  and  if  the  Druid  sacrificed  men  on 
the  altar,  an  oak  forest  was  the  temple,  and  it 
was  not  offered  to  an  ox  or  an  ass,  but  to  an  ade 
quate  notion  of  the  Supreme  Being.  In  all  these 
the  ways  of  Providence  were  traced  in  the  hur 
ricane,  the  sea,  the  cloud,  or  the  earthquake, 
and  therefore  the  mind  must  needs  be  elevated 
that  would  converse  with  them.  But  as  civilized 
life  advanced,  and  civil  and  social  institutions 
were  erected,  and  life  became  more  intellectual, 


1822]  RELIGION  103 

devotion  was  degraded  by  a  profane  and  vulgar 
idolatry  ;  .  .  .  The  gods  and  demigods  went 
fast  below  the  standard  of  human  respectability, 
until  the  worship  of  superior  beings,  the  holiest 
feeling  of  which  the  human  soul  is  capable,  and 
that  perhaps  for  which  it  was  made,  seems  to  have 
almost  passed  out  of  repute  and  name  among 
honest  patriots,  and  Olympus  needed  to  be 
cleaned  of  its  impurities,  and  the  thrones  of  hea 
ven  to  be  subverted  for  the  peace  of  society. 

This  fact,  that  the  seeds  of  corruption  are 
buried  in  the  causes  of  improvement  strikes  us 
everywhere  in  the  political,  moral,  and  national 
history  of  the  world.  It  seems  to  indicate  the 
intentions  of  Providence  to  limit  human  perfec 
tibility  and  to  bind  together  good  and  evil,  like 
life  and  death,  by  indissoluble  connection.  .  .  . 
The  idea  of  power  seems  to  have  been  every 
where  at  the  bottom  of  the  Theology ;  the  hu 
man  mind  has  a  propensity  to  refer  all  its  higher 
feelings,  all  its  veneration  for  virtue  and  great 
ness,  to  something  wherein  this  attribute  is  sup 
posed  to  reside.  Cause  and  Effect  is  another 
name  for  the  direction  of  this  sentiment.  .  .  . 
What  are  Honour,  Mercy,  Pride,  Humility, 
Revenge  —  but  sensations  which  have  reference 
to  in-dwelling  power?  Honour  is  the  worthiness 


104  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

which  it  gives ;  Mercy,  the  temperate  forbear 
ance  of  its  exercise;  Pride,  the  self-respect  which 
attends  its  possession;  Humility,  the  acknow 
ledgement  of  its  existence;  Revenge,  a  barbarous 
use  to  which  it  is  put.  It  is  shared  among  all 
beings,  but  in  all  has  a  limit  and  a  beginning,  on 
which  the  mind's  eye  eagerly  fastens,  with  an 
immediate  attempt  to  trace  the  sources  whence 
the  subtle  principle  was  derived.  It  is  a  great 
flood  which  encircles  the  universe  and  is  poured 
out  in  unnumbered  channels  to  feed  the  foun 
tains  of  life  and  the  wants  of  Creation,  but  every 
where  runs  back  again  and  is  swallowed  up  in  its 
eternal  source.  That  source  is  God. 

Will  the  disputes  upon  the  Nature  of  God, 
upon  Trinitarianism  and  Unitarianism,  never 
yield  to  a  purer  pursuit  and  to  practical  inquiry  ? 
It  is  possible,  for  all  we  know  to  the  contrary, 
that  God  may  exist  in  a  threefold  Unity ;  but  if 
it  were  so,  since  it  is  inconceivable  to  us,  he  would 
never  have  revealed  to  us  such  an  existence  which 
we  cannot  describe  or  comprehend.  Infinite 
Wisdom  established  the  foundations  of  know 
ledge  in  the  mind,  so  that  twice  two  could  never 
make  anything  else  than  four.  As  soon  as  this 
can  be  otherwise,  our  faith  is  loosened  and  science 
abolished.  Three  may  be  one,  and  one  three. 


1822]  POETRY  105 


OF    POETRY 


It  is  the  language  of  the  passions  which  do  not 
ordinarily  find  their  full  expression  in  the  sober 
strains  of  prose.  We  should  rest  our  argument 
on  this :  that  there  seems  to  be  a  tendency  in 
the  passions  to  clothe  fanciful  views  of  objects 
in  beautiful  language.  It  seems  to  consist  in  the 
pleasure  of  finding  out  a  connection  between  a 
material  image  and  a  moral  sentiment.  Few  men 
are  safe  when  they  begin  to  describe  poetry ;  they 
talk  at  random,  or  hardly  prevent  the  ends  of 
the  lines  from  rhyming,  and  are  like  the  mimic  of 
a  madman  who  went  mad  himself.  Poetry  never 
offers  a  distinct  set  of  sensations.  Science  pene 
trates  the  sky,  Philosophy  explains  its  adapta 
tion  to  our  wants,  and  Poetry  grasps  at  its  striking 
phenomena  and  combines  them  with  the  moral 
sentiment  which  they  naturally  suggest.  Its  im 
ages  are  nothing  but  the  striking  occurrences 
selected  from  Nature  and  Art  and  clothed  in  an 
artful  combination  of  sounds.  .  .  .  But  poetical 
expression  constitutes  to  half  the  world  the 
beauty  of  poetry  and  in  this  it  seems  to  resem 
ble  Algebra,  for  both  make  language  an  instru 
ment  and  depend  solely  upon  it  without  having 
any  abstracted  use. 


ro6  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

There  are  few  things  which  the  well-wishers 
of  American  literature  have  more  at  heart  than 
our  national  poetry.  For  every  thing  else,  for 
science,  and  morals  and  art  they  are  willing  to 
wait  the  gradual  development,  but  they  are  in 
haste  to  pluck  the  bright  blossoms  from  the  fair 
tree  which  grows  fast  by  the  hill  of  Parnassus. 
For  when  a  nation  has  found  time  for  the  lux 
ury  and  refinement  of  poetry  it  takes  off  the  re 
proach  of  a  sluggish  genius  and  of  ignorant 
indifference. 

Poetical  expression  serves  to  embellish  dull 
thoughts,  but  we  love  better  to  follow  the  poet, 
when  the  muse  is  so  ethereal  and  the  thought  so 
sublime  that  language  sinks  beneath  it. 

DRAMA 

Saturday  Evening,  January 
When  a  species  of  composition  has  been  writ 
ten  with  success  in  a  brilliant  period,  and  in  an 
other  and  remote  land  has  been  likewise  known, 
and  after  having  been  discontinued  and  forgot 
ten  is  revived  in  another  age  and  another  coun 
try —  we  have  every  right  to  say  that  such  an  art 
is  agreeable  to  the  dictates  of  nature.  This  is  the 
history  of  the  Drama,  and  it  has  every  reason- 


i82z]  DRAMA  107 

able  indication  that  it  will  every  where  flourish 
under  favourable  circumstances.  It  is  easy  also  to 
distinguish  between  those  parts  of  it  which  are 
unnatural  and  the  forced  production  of  a  state 
of  society,  and  those  which  are  the  genuine  off 
spring  of  the  human  spirit.  In  the  Mysteries, — 
the  French  Drama  of  the  Middle  Ages,  —  such 
personages  were  introduced  upon  the  stage  as 
"Such,"  "Each  One,"  and  "Both,"  and  per 
formed  their  parts  as  gravely  and  as  much  to  the 
satisfaction  of  a  perverted  public  taste  as  did 
ever  the  most  accomplished  Iphigenia,  Electra, 
Caesar.  Such  a  folly  as  this  is  evidently  the  ap 
propriate  spawn  of  the  age  of  the  Schools  and 
the  pleasantry  of  confirmed  pedantry.  It  does 
not  follow  that,  if  anything  be  out  of  the  com 
mon  course  of  human  experience,  it  is  not  natural 
to  the  drama  and  may  not  talk  with  ordinary 
agents.  The  representation  of  the  dead  consorts 
perfectly  with  the  feelings  of  the  most  refined 
taste,  and  in  every  age  has  formed  a  part  of  dra 
matic  entertainment.  For  the  belief  in  unseen 
agents  is  so  universal,  and  indeed  is  a  conse 
quence  of  a  belief  in  God,  that  no  mind  ever 
revolts  at  the  idea. 

A  constituent  part  of  the  Drama  from  its 
very  invention  was  the  ornament  of  scenery. 


io8  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

This  suggests  itself  unavoidably  as  an  important 
element  of  the  plan  which  acts  altogether  by 
deceiving  the  audience  into  the  conviction  that 
the  actors  really  are  the  persons  whom  they  re 
present.  The  illusion  could  be  best  promoted 
by  removing  all  extraneous  circumstances  and 
affording  the  imagination  the  help  of  all  the 
senses.  Independently  of  this,  it  is  a  high  grat 
ification  to  be  suddenly  removed  from  all  the 
common  objects  of  daily  occurrence,  and  admit 
ted  to  a  spectacle  of  shining  cities,  of  imposing 
mountain  scenery,  of  thrones,  and  of  magnifi 
cent  apparel. 

May. 

I  rejoice  in  Shakspeare's  empire  as  far  as  it 
is  reckless  of  that  learning  which  some  dotards 
make  a  merit  of;  but,  as  sustained  on  the  sen 
sual,  regret  and  abhor  his  dominion.  It  is  for  a 
still  brighter  era  to  erase  his  deformities,  and 
possibly  set  a  mightier  magician  over  the  witch 
eries  of  fancy.  But  to  me — to  his  old  admirers, 
nothing  could  supply  his  place.  .  .  . 

[A    VENTURE  IN    ROMANCE] 

I  was  the  pampered  child  of  the  East.  I  was 
born  where  the  soft  western  gale  breathed  upon 
me  the  fragrance  of  cinnamon  groves,  and  through 


1822]  IDEALISM  109 

the  seventy  windows  of  my  hall  the  eye  fell  on 
the  Arabian  harvest.  An  hundred  elephants, 
apparelled  in  cloth  of  gold,  carried  my  train  to 
war,  and  the  smile  of  the  Great  King  beamed 
upon  Omar.  But  now  —  the  broad  Indian  moon 
looks  through  the  broken  arches  of  my  tower, 
and  the  wing  of  Desolation  fans  me  with  poi 
sonous  airs ;  the  spider's  threads  are  the  tapestry 
which  adorns  my  walls,  and  the  rain  of  the 
night  is  heard  in  my  halls  for  the  music  of  the 
daughters  of  Cashmere.  Wail,  wail  for  me,  ye 
who  put  on  honour  as  gay  drapery ! 

IDEALISM 

Deep  in  the  soul  a  strong  delusion  dwells, 
A  curious  round  of  fairly  fashioned  dreams ; 
Yet,  quietly  the  pleasant  vision  swells 
Its  gay  proportions  far  around,  the  streams 
Of  the  wide  universe  their  wealth  supply, 
Their  everlasting  sources  furnish  forth 
The  fabled  splendours,  whose  immortal  dye 
Colours  the  scene  with  hues  which  mock  the  summer 
sky. 

And  oh  how  sweetly  in  youth's  seraph  soul, 
That  vision,  like  the  light  of  heaven,  doth  rest. 
Its  name  is  Life ;  its  Hours  their  circle  roll 
Like  angels  in  the  robes  of  morning  drest ; 


no  JOURNAL  [AGEIS 

And  every  phantom  of  the  train  is  blest 

Who  shakes  his  plumes  upon  the  odorous  air, 

Or  lights  a  star  upon  his  azure  crest ; 

And  while  the  lovely  beam  reposes  there, 

Joy  in  the  guileless  heart  his  welcome  will  prepare. 

The  circle  of  the  sciences  is  no  more  firmly 
bound  together  than  the  circle  of  the  virtues ; 
but,  in  the  first,  a  man  cannot  hope  to  be  thor 
oughly  acquainted  with  all,  for  they  are  in  some 
degree  incompatible;  whereas,  in  the  last,  his 
character  will  be  defective  if  it  do  not  combine 
the  whole,  and  form  that  harmony  which  results 
from  all. 


JOURNAL  VI 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.  4 

DEDICATION 

BOSTON,  February  22,  1822. 
I  have  invoked  successively  the  Muse,  the 
fairies,  the  witches,  and  Wisdom  to  preside  over 
my  creations;  I  have  summoned  Imagination 
from  within,  and  Nature  from  without ;  I  have 
called  on  Time,  and  assembled  about  the  slight 
work  the  Hours  of  his  train — But  the  Powers 
were  unpropitious ;  fate  was  averse.  Some  other 
spell  must  be  chaunted,  some  other  melody  sung. 
I  will  devote  it  to  the  dead.  The  mind  shall  anti 
cipate  a  few  fleeting  hours,  and  borrow  its  tone 
from  what  all  that  have  been  are,  and  all  that  are 
will  shortly  be.  All  that  adorns  this  world  are  the 
gifts  which  they  left  in  their  passage  through  it. 
To  these  monuments  which  they  bequeathed, 
and  to  their  shades  which  watch  in  the  universe, 
I  apply  for  excitement,  and  I  dedicate  my  short 
lived  flowers.1 

i  The  duties  to  the  dead  implied  in  this  dedication,  however, 
seem  to  have  slipped  the  mind  of  the  young  writer,  after  he 
turned  the  page,  until  he  nearly  reached  the  end  of  the  book. 


112  JOURNAL  [AGE  1 8 

CONTINUATION  OF  SOME  REMARKS  UPON 
PROVIDENCE 

Saturday  Eve.,  February  23. 
No  elaborate  argument  can  remove  the  fact 
which  strikes  the  senses,  and  which  is  the  first  and 
chief  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the  belief  of  an  omni 
potent  good  Principle,  namely,  the  existence  of 
evil  in  the  world,  and  next,  the  great  share  it  has 
in  the  texture  of  human  life,  and  its  successful  op 
position  to  virtue  and  happiness.  If  we  suppose 
the  character  of  the  Author  to  be  unmixed  Good 
ness,  the  work  must  be  likewise  pure,  and  an  ulti 
mate  failure  of  success  subtracts  Wisdom  and 
Omnipotence  (if  indeed  the  one  be  not  involved 
in  the  other)  from  the  qualities  of  the  forming 
Being,  that  is,  —  demonstrates  him  not  to  be  God. 
Human  wisdom  sees  the  imperfection  of  the  part, 
and  labours  to  make  out  the  perfection  of  the 
whole  from  the  analogies  of  the  universe  which 
fall  under  its  eye,  from  its  judgments  upon  the 
language  which  testimony  attributes  to  this  Cre 
ator,  and  from  the  intuitive  and  acquired  con 
clusions  which  it  forms  upon  Nature.1 

i  This  argument,  though,  after  the  above  paragraph,  lead 
ing  nowhere  and  ending  conventionally  when  the  young  writer 
tired  of  it,  is  introduced  because  of  the  criticism  so  often  made 


i82z]  PROVIDENCE  113 

But  another  great  testimony  to  which  the  mind 
will  naturally  turn  to  confirm  or  efface  its  con 
victions  of  a  superintending  hand,  is  History; 
to  see  if  Time  will  fulfil  any  larger  part  of  that 
Justice  which  should  take  place  than  falls  under 
the  life  of  one  man.  And  this  is  an  evidence 
which  grows  with  every  year  of  time,  which 
could  not  be  open  to  the  primitive  races  of  man 
kind,  and  which,  if  its  weight  be  found  favour 
able,  will  develope  to  the  last  ages  the  connecting 
bonds  which  unite  the  fate  of  many  generations, 
—  the  plan,  of  ample  outline  and  intricate  parts, 

on  Emerson,  that  he  would  not  look  on  the  dark  side  of  the 
world,  on  evil,  on  sin.  His  attempts  to  deal  with  such  prob 
lems  he  later  considered  as  among  the  diseases  of  childhood. 

In  "  Spiritual  Laws  "  (Essays,  ist  Series)  he  said  :  "  The 
intellectual  life  may  be  kept  clean  and  healthful,  if  a  man  will 
live  the  life  of  nature,  and  not  import  into  his  mind  difficulties 
which  are  none  of  his.  No  man  need  be  perplexed  in  his  specu 
lations.  Let  him  do  and  say  what  strictly  belongs  to  him,  and 
though  very  ignorant  of  books,  his  nature  shall  not  yield  him 
any  intellectual  obstructions  and  doubts.  Our  young  people  are 
diseased  with  the  theological  problems  of  original  sin,  predes 
tination  and  the  like.  These  never  presented  a  practical  diffi 
culty  to  any  man,  —  never  darkened  across  any  man's  road 
who  did  not  go  out  of  his  way  to  seek  them.  These  are  the 
soul's  mumps  and  measles  and  whooping-cough,  and  those 
who  have  not  caught  them  cannot  describe  their  health  or  pre 
scribe  the  cure.  A  simple  mind  will  not  know  these  enemies." 


ii4  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

which  will  reveal  the  obscure  relations  between 
one  and  another  remote  scene,  whereby  a  suc 
cession  of  misfortune  and  suffering  is  counter 
balanced  by  an  equal  sum  of  happiness,  and  the 
unnatural  success  of  vice  and  its  undue  prepon 
derance  over  ages  and  nations  of  the  world,  is 
set  right  again  by  the  triumphs  of  virtue  over 
other  ages  and  nations.  Moralists  have  regarded 
the  adjustment  of  this  great  and  perplexing  va 
riety  in  human  condition  as  the  exhibition  to  the 
Universe  of  a  great  picture,  in  which,  for  the 
harmony  of  the  whole,  much  is  encompassed 
with  deep  shade ;  and  the  painted  figures  may  not 
complain  to  the  Artist  because  they  have  been 
arranged  and  coloured  in  such  or  such  a  manner. 
But  is  this  a  fair  view  ?  are  free  agents  nothing 
more  than  painted  emblems?  are —  (but  I  have 
left  my  proper  course  of  thought  and  must  return 
to  it  again)  —  I  was  about  to  say  that  it  is  history 
alone  which  can  determine  whether  the  means 
answer  the  end,  and  whether  the  design  be  fully 
accomplished  in  those  schemes  whose  fulfilments 
involves  many  ages ;  e.  g.  to  discover  the  typi 
cal  and  direct  relations  between  the  Jewish  and 
Christian  dispensations ;  and  to  watch  the  fulfil 
ment  of  prophecy.  But  whether  these  schemes 
be  answered  or  not,  the  question  still  recurs  — 


i822)        EXISTENCE   OF    EVIL          115 

why  did  a  good  Providence  permit  at  all  the  ex 
istence  of  evil,  or  why  does  any  one  individual 
suffer  from  the  vice  of  others,  or  the  sickness  and 
unhappiness  which  he  did  not  bring  on  himself, 
but  which  is  incident  to  his  nature?  The  reply 
which  each  individual  finds  himself  able  to  make 
to  this  question  will  go  far  to  doubt  or  to  justify 
his  idea  of  Providence. 

It  may  be  well  by  way  of  solving  this  ques 
tion  to  propose  and  answer  two  more  —  What 
is  evil  ?  and,  What  is  its  origin  ? 

What  is  evil  ?  There  is  an  answer  from 
every  corner  of  this  globe  —  from  every  moun 
tain  and  valley  and  sea.  The  enslaved,  the  sick, 
the  disappointed,  the  poor,  the  unfortunate, 
the  dying,  the  surviving,  cry  out,  It  is  here. 
Every  man  points  to  his  dwelling  or  strikes  his 
breast  to  say,  It  is  here.  An  enumeration  of 
some  of  the  most  prominent  evils  in  society  will 
illustrate  the  variety  and  malignity  of  this  disease. 

What  is  its  origin  ?  The  sin  which  Adam 
brought  into  the  world  and  entailed  upon  his 
children. 

One  of  the  finest  chapters  in  the  Old  Tes 
tament  is  the  song  of  Deborah  and  Barak, 
Judges  V.  q.  v.  1 1 


n6  JOURNAL  [AcEiS 

[NOVELS] 

The  novelist  must  fasten  the  skirts  of  his 
tale  to  scenes  or  traditions  so  well  known  as  to 
make  it  impossible  to  disbelieve,  and  so  obscure 
as  not  to  obtrude  repugnant  facts  upon  the  fin 
ished  deception  he  weaves. 

[COLLEGE  REVISITED] 

I  have  not  much  cause,  I  sometimes  think, 
to  wish  my  Alma  Mater  well,  personally;  I 
was  not  often  highly  flattered  by  success,  and 
was  every  day  mortified  by  my  own  ill  fate  or 
ill  conduct.  Still,  when  I  went  today  to  the 
ground  where  I  had  had  the  brightest  thoughts 
of  my  little  life  and  filled  up  the  little  measure 
of  my  knowledge,  and  had  felt  sentimental  for 
a  time,  and  poetical  for  a  time,  and  had  seen 
many  fine  faces,  and  traversed  many  fine  walks, 
and  enjoyed  much  pleasant,  learned,  or  friendly 
society,  —  I  felt  a  crowd  of  pleasant  thoughts, 
as  I  went  posting  about  from  place  to  place, 
and  room  to  chapel. 

February  28,  1822. 

Few  of  my  pages  have  been  filled  so  little  to 
my  own  satisfaction  as  these  —  and  why  ?  —  be 
cause  the  air  has  been  so  fine,  and  my  visits  so 


1822]  ROMANCE  117 

pleasant,  and  myself  so  full  of  pleasant  social 
feelings,  for  a  day  or  two  past,  that  the  mind 
has  not  possessed  sufficiently  the  cold,  frigid 
tone  which  is  indispensable  to  become  so  oracu 
lar  as  it  hath  been  of  late.  Etsi  mearum  cogita- 
tionum  laus  (et  honor?]  non  tarn  magna  quam  antea 
fuit,  tamen  gaudium  voluptatemque  majorem  ac- 
cipit,  quoniam  sentire  principia  amoris  me  credebam. 
Vidi  amicum  etsi  veterem,  ignotum  ;  alterant  vidi 
not  am  et  noscendam  ;  ambo^  for  sit  an  ^  si  placet  Deo, 
par  tern  vitae^partem  meifacient.  Poenitetmei  res 
magnas  narrare  cum  verbis  qualibus  tyro  uti  solet. 

At  mid  day  in  the  crowd  of  care, 

The  unbidden  thought  will  come, 

And  force  the  obedient  blush  prepare 

Reluctant  welcome  home  ; 

And  in  the  corners  of  the  heart, 

And  in  the  Passions'  cell, 

It  bids  my  thoughts  to  battle  start, 

Which  fain  would  peaceful  dwell. 

Peace,  Pleasure,  Pride,  and  Joy,  and  Grief, 

Awake  the  chaos  wild,  — 

But  worse  and  cursed  the  relief 

Which  sense  and  strife  beguiled.   (To-wit, 

Indifference.) 

So  much  poetry  for  peculiar  sources  of  pride, 
old  and  inveterate,  and  perhaps  hereafter  un- 


n8  JOURNAL  [AGE  1 8 

intelligible.  Still  one's  feelings  are  well  worth 
speculation  and  I  am  desirous  of  remembering 
a  date,  (as  that  of  the  last  page)  .  .  . 

A  beautiful  thought  struck  me  suddenly,  with 
out  any  connection  which  I  could  trace  with  my 
previous  trains  of  thought  and  feeling.  It  had 
no  analogy  to  any  notion  I  ever  remembered  to 
have  formed;  it  surpassed  all  others  in  the  energy 
and  purity  in  which  it  clothed  itself;  it  put  by 
all  others  by  the  novelty  it  bore,  and  the  grasp 
it  laid  upon  every  fibre;  for  the  time,  it  absorbed 
all  other  thoughts  ;  —  all  the  faculties  —  each  in 
his  cell,  bowed  down  and  worshipped  before  this 
new  Star.  —-Ye  who  roam  among  the  living  and 
the  dead,  over  flowers  or  among  the  cherubims, 
in  real  or  ideal  universes,  do  not  whisper  my 
thought ! 

SOCIAL   FEELINGS 

.  .  .  Solitude  has  but  few  sacrifices  to  make, 
and  may  be  innocent,  but  can  hardly  be  greatly 
virtuous  like  Abraham,  like  Job,  like  the  Roman 
Regulus  or  the  apostle  Paul.  Great  actions,  from 
their  nature,  are  not  done  in  the  closet ;  they  are 
performed  in  the  face  of  the  sun,  and  in  behalf 
of  the  world. 


,822]  VISION  119 

Sabbath,  March  3. 

Animi  ardor,  de  quo  supra  dixiy  non  extinctus 
est^  sedmihi  videtur  non  esse  tampotens,  tarn  clarus, 
tarn  magnus  quam  antea.  fimeo  ne  caderet.  Spero 
ut  viveret. 

March  4. 

VISION 

A  breathless  solitude  in  a  cottage  in  the  woods 
beneath  the  magnificent  splendour  of  this  moon 
light  and  with  this  autumnal  coolness  might  drive 
one  mad  with  excitement.  Precipitous  and  shad 
owy  mountains,  thick  forests  and  far  winding 
rivers  should  sleep  under  the  light,  and  add  their 
charm  to  the  fascination.  The  silence  broken  only 
by  the  far  cry  of  the  night  bird;  or  disturbed  by 
the  distant  shout  of  the  peasant,  or,  at  intervals, 
by  those  melancholy  meanings  of  the  wind  which 
speak  so  expressively  to  the  ear, — who  would 
not  admire?  Let  the  Hours  roll  by  uncounted, 
let  the  universe  sleep  on  in  this  grand  repose,  but 
be  the  spell  unbroken  by  aught  of  this  world, 
by  vulgar  and  disquieting  cares  ;  by  a  regret  or  a 
thought  which  might  remind  us  of  aught  but  Na 
ture.  Here  is  her  Paradise,  here  is  her  throne. 
The  stars  in  their  courses  roll  silently  ;  the  oaks 
rock  in  their  forests  to  the  voice  of  the  sighing 
breeze ;  the  wall  flowers  on  the  top  of  the  cliffnod 


120  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

over  its  giddy  edge,  and  the  worshipping  enthu 
siast  standsatthedoorof  his  tentmuteand  happy, 
while  the  leaves  rustle  down  from  the  topmost 
boughs  and  cover  his  feet.  A  cry  in  the  wilder 
ness  !  the  shriek  and  sudden  sound  of  desolation ! 
howl  for  him  that  comes  riding  on  darkness 
through  the  midnight;  that  puts  his  hand  forth 
to  darken  the  moon,  and  quenches  all  the  stars. 
Lo  !  where  the  awful  pageantry  rolleth  now  to 
the  corners  of  the  heaven ;  the  fiery  form  shrouds 
his  terrible  brow  behind  the  fragment  of  a  stormy 
cloud,  and  the  eyes  of  Creation  gaze  after  the 
rushing  chariot.  Lo !  he  stands  up  in  the  Uni 
verse  and  with  his  hands  he  parts  the  firmament 
asunder  from  side  to  side.  And  as  he  trode  upon 
the  dragons,  I  saw  the  name  which  burned  under 
neath.  Wake,  oh  wake,  ye  who  keep  watch  in 
the  Universe !  Time,  Space,  Eternity,  ye  Energies 
that  live,—  for  his  name  is  DESTRUCTION ! 
—  who  keep  the  Sceptre  of  its  eternal  order,  for  He 
hath  reached  unto  your  treasuries,  and  he  feeleth 
after  your  sceptre  to  break  it  in  pieces.  Another 
cry  went  up,  like  the  crash  of  broken  spheres, 
the  voice  of  dying  worlds.  It  is  night.  —  An  ex 
ceeding  noisy  vision  ! l 

i    The  florid  oratory  then  in  vogue,  especi^ly  of  the 
young  Southerners,  had,  for  a  time,  a  great  attraction 


i822]  GREATNESS  121 

GREATNESS 

Never  mistake  yourself  to  be  great,  or  de 
signed  for  greatness,  because  you  have  been 
visited  by  an  indistinct  and  shadowy  hope  that 
something  is  reserved  for  you  beyond  the  com 
mon  lot.  It  is  easier  to  aspire  than  to  do  the 
deeds.  The  very  idleness  which  leaves  you 
leisure  to  dream  of  honour  is  the  insurmount 
able  obstacle  between  you  and  it.  Those  who 
are  fitly  furnished  for  the  weary  passage  from 
mediocrity  to  greatness  seldom  find  time  or 
appetite  to  indulge  that  hungry  and  boisterous 
importunity  for  excitement  which  weaker  intel 
lects  are  prone  to  display.  That  which  helps 
them  on  to  eminence  is  in  itself  sufficient  to 
engross  the  attention  of  all  their  powers,  and 
to  occupy  the  aching  void.  Greatness  never 
comes  upon  a  man  by  surprise,  and  without 
his  exertions  or  consent ;  No,  it  is  another  sort 
of  Genii  who  traverse  your  path  suddenly ;  it 
is  Poverty  which  travels  like  an  armed  man  ;  it 
is  Contempt  which  meets  you  in  the  corners  and 

for  the  New  England  boy.  In  later  years  Mr.  Emerson 
used  to  recite  to  his  children,  imitating  the  manner,  some 
fragments  of  their  college  oratory  which  still  remained 
in  his  memory. 


122  JOURNAL  [AGE  1 8 

highways  with  a  hiss,  and  Anger  which  treads 
you  down  as  with  the  lightning.  Greatness  is 
a  property  for  which  no  man  gets  credit  too 
soon ;  it  must  be  possessed  long  before  it  is 
acknowledged.  Nor  do  I  think  this  to  be  so 
absolutely  rare  and  unattainable  as  it  is  com 
monly  esteemed.  This  very  hope,  and  panting 
after  it,  which  was  alluded  to,  is,  in  some  sort, 
an  earnest  of  the  possibility  of  success.  God 
doubtless  designed  to  form  minds  of  different 
mould,  and  to  create  distinctions  in  intellect ; 
still  the  extraordinary  effects  of  education  attest 
a  capacity  of  improvement  to  an  indefinite  de 
gree.  .  .  . 

Newton  was  often  at  a  loss  when  the  conver 
sation  turned  upon  his  own  discoveries  ;  Shak- 
speare  was  indifferent  or  opposed  to  the  pub 
lication  of  his  works,  and  idly  left  his  books, 
careless  himself,  for  others,  for  Britain,  or  the 
world  to  boast  of.  It  is  impossible  to  make 
arithmetical  computation  of  mind.  Still  this 
indifference  to  trifles,  and  the  sensibility  to 
them,  trace  a  very  broad  line  of  distinction  be 
tween  the  first  and  second  orders.  .  .  . 

I  am  not  sure  but  that  the  highest  order  of 
greatness,  that  which  abandons  earthly  consan 
guinity,  and  allies  itself  to  immortal  minds,  is 


i822]  BALLAD  123 

that  which  exists  in  obscurity  and  is  least 
known  among  mankind.  For  superiour  intel 
lects  are  only  drawn  out  into  society  by  the 
action  of  those  inducements  which  society  holds 
up  to  them.  If,  therefore,  there  are  any  who 
are  above  the  solicitation  of  wealth,  honour,  and 
influence,  and  who  can  laugh  even  at  the  love 
of  Fame,  that  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds,  there 
will  be  nothing  left  worth  offering  them,  to  at 
tract  them  from  their  solitudes  ;  they  must  pass 
on  through  their  discipline  and  education  of 
life,  unsympathized  with,  unknown,  or  perhaps, 
ignorantly  despised.  Thus  the  archangels  pass 
among  us  unseen,  for,  if  known,  they  could  not 
be  appreciated,  and  having  faculties  and  ener 
gies  which  our  organs  can  never  measure,  it  is 
better  that  we  never  meet. 

March  7. 

BALLAD 

The  Knight  rode  up  to  the  castle-gate, 

But  a  grisly  hag  was  there, 
She  chattered  in  spite,  with  muttered  threat, 

And  twisted  her  thin  gray  hair. 

Her  half-bald  pate  was  a  sorry  sight, 

But  her  eyes  went  wide  askew  ; 
Two  long  dog-teeth,  like  dim  twilight, 

Shone  over  her  lips  so  blue. 


i24  JOURNAL  [AcEiS 

"  Fair  ladye  of  love  !  "  the  Knight  exclaimed, 

And  bent  his  body  low, 
"  Thou  flower  of  beauty,  widely  famed, 

Roses  feed  thee,  I  trow. 

u  The  boy  Cupide  attendeth  thee, 

The  Graces  thy  sisters  be  ; 
Oh  give  me  a  lock  of  thy  golden  hair 
And  make  a  faithful  knight  of  me." 

The  maiden  clenched  her  shrivelled  fist, 
And  her  eyes  grew  red  with  rage  :  — 
u  You  may  mock,  Sir  Simple,  as  loud  as  you  list, 
But  you  shall  be  my  (chosen)  page. 

"  I  '11  give  you  a  lock  of  the  hair  that 's  left, 

Three  hairs  I  '11  give  to  thee ; 
Beelzebub  knows,  when  I  'm  bereft, 
I  will  the  stronger  be." 

She  plucked  three  hairs  from  her  pye-bald  head, 
And  shrieked  like  a  fishhorn  loud, — 

Straight  of  those  hairs  three  snakes  were  made, 
That  leaped  on  the  champion  good  ; 

And  one  twined  round  his  armed  neck, 
And  one  twined  round  each  hand, 

And  the  tails  of  the  three  in  a  black  braid  met 
In  the  grisly  haggis  hand. 


i822]  SOCIAL   FEELINGS  125: 

And  the  hag  she  turned  to  a  dragon  green, 

With  these  she  flew  away,  — 
And  never  again  those  two  were  seen, 

Until  the  Judgement  Day. 

This  book,  in  ordinary,  is  peculiarly  devoted 
to  original  ideas,  but  I  cannot  resist  the  pleasure 
of  setting  down,  in  black  and  white,  verses 
which  I  have  repeated  so  often.  It  is  a  charm 
in  one  of  Ben  Jonson's  Masques. 

"  The  faery  beam  upon  you, 
The  stars  to  glister  on  you, 
A  moon  of  light, 
In  the  noon  of  night, 
Till  the  fire-drake  hath  oer-gone  you. 
The  wheel  of  Fortune  guide  you, 
The  Boy  with  the  bow  beside  you 
Run  aye  in  the  way, 
Till  the  bird  of  day, 
And  the  luckier  lot  betide  you." 

SOCIAL    FEELINGS 

.  .  .  It  is  in  itself  a  most  noble  and  magnifi 
cent  subject,  and  one  to  which  all  others  seem 
tributary,  .  .  .  how  the  combined  energies  of 
many  millions  of  co-existent  agents  may  be 
brought  to  act,  with  their  proper  infinite  influ 
ence,  continually  in  the  direction  of  their  sure 


126  JOURNAL  [AGE  1 8 

interests,  for  time  and  eternity ;  and  how  the  im 
provement  which  is  gained  may  be  kept,  and  the 
separate  and  conflicting  energies  may  be  recon 
ciled,  and,  that  Mind  shall  reap  all  the  fruits  of 
the  toiling  of  the  body.  .  .  . 

[DEATH] 

March  8. 

.  .  .  Life  is  the  spark  which  kindles  up  a  soul 
and  opens  its  capacities  to  receive  the  great  les 
sons  which  it  is  appointed  to  learn  of  the  Uni 
verse —  of  Good — of  Evil — of  accountability 
— of  Eternity;  of  Beauty,  of  Happiness.  The 
inestimable  moment  in  which  the  history  of  past 
ages  is  opened,  its  own  relations  to  the  Universe 
explained,  its  dependence  and  independence 
shewn;  the  time  to  reach  itself  the  affections,  and 
to  gratify  them,  to  ally  itself  in  kindly  bonds 
with  other  beings  of  like  destiny ;  the  time  to 
educate  a  citizen  of  unknown  spheres  ;  the  time 
to  serve  the  Lord. 

And  is  it  good  to  die?  to  exchange  this  pre 
cious  consciousness  capable  of  such  sublime  pur 
poses  for  an  unknown  state  (of  which  all  that 
is  seen  is  appalling) ;  perhaps  for  a  gloomy  sleep? 
Is  it  good  to  be  forced  away  against  our  will  and 
through  extreme  suffering,  from  the  vital  body, 


1822]  DEATH.     DRAMA  127 

and  give  up  that  organ  of  our  enjoyment  and 
sufferings  to  the  worms,  while  what  shall  befall 
the  soul  we  cannot  tell?  We  shudder  when  the 
question  is  made,  and  terror,  terror  breaks  down 
the  vain  refinements  of  philosophy,  and  the  fences 
of  affectation. 

Reason  bids  us  ask,  who  is  the  being  that 
forces  away  the  mind  into  this  unknown  state? 
Nature  and  Revelation  have  taught  us  some 
thing  of  this  being.  We  are  reduced  to  put  our 
views  of  death  entirely  upon  His  character  and 
will,  and  Death  will  become  more  or  less  ter 
rible  according  to  our  notions  of  the  Lord  of 
Death. 

Thus  have  I  fulfilled  enough  of  my  design 
in  this  book  to  authorize  my  dedication  on  the 
first  page.  This  shall  not  prevent  me  from  re 
suming  the  topics  upon  the  slightest  indications 
of  my  Noometer. 

DRAMA 

March  9. 

In  connexion  with  the  remarks  on  the  Drama 
\Wide  World^  No.  3]  it  should  be  further  said, 
that  this  art  is  the  most  attractive,  naturally,  of 
all.  The  others  speak  to  man  from  a  distance, 
through  cold  and  remote  associations.  The  liter- 


128  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

ature  of  a  generation  generally  addresses  but  a 
scanty  portion  of  society;  of  their  contempora 
ries,  history  and  poetry  are  confined  to  a  few 
readers;  philosophy  and  science  to  still  fewer; 
but  the  buskined  muse  comes  out  impatient 
from  these  abstractions,  to  repeat  in  a  popular 
and  intelligible  form  the  productions  of  the 
closet,  to  copy  the  manners  of  high  and  low  life, 
to  act  upon  the  heart;  and  succeeds,  by  thus 
avoiding  the  haughty  port  of  the  Parnassian 
queens,  to  draw  the  multitude  by  the  cords  of 
love.  Folly  wins  where  wisdom  fails;  and  the 
policy  of  adding  to  our  attractions  even  at  the 
cost  of  some  wit,  is  seldom  repented.  This  is 
the  excellence  of  the  drama  which  pretends  to 
nothing  more  than  to  be  a  true  picture  of  life. 


FICTION 


The  origin  of  Fiction  is  buried  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  remotest  ages.  If  it  were  a  question 
of  any  importance,  perhaps  its  secret  springs  are 
not  yet  beyond  the  reach  of  the  inquirer.  To 
paint  what  is  not  should  naturally  seem  less 
agreeable  to  the  mind  than  to  describe  what  is. 
"Nothing"  (said  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  the 
Human  Understanding)  ,"is  so  beautiful  to  the 
eye,  as  truth  to  the  mind."  But  if  we  look  again, 


i822]       FICTION.     PROPHECY         129 

I  apprehend  we  shall  find  that  the  source  of 
fable,  is  human  misery ;  that  to  relieve  one  hour 
of  life,  by  exciting  the  sympathies  to  a  tale  even 
of  imaginary  joy,  was  accounted  a  praiseworthy 
accomplishment;  and  honour  and  gold  were  due 
to  him,  whose  rare  talent  took  away,  for  the 
moment,  the  memory  of  care  and  grief.  Fancy, 
which  is  ever  a  kind  of  contradiction  to  life  and 
truth,  set  off  in  a  path  remote  as  possible  from 
all  human  scenes  and  circumstances  ;  and  hence 
the  first  legends  dealt  altogether  in  monstrous 
scenes,  and  peopled  the  old  mythology,  and  the 
nursery  lore,  with  magicians,  griffins,  and  meta 
morphoses  which  offend  the  ear  of  taste,  and  could 
only  win  away  the  credulity  of  a  savage  race,  and 
the  simplicity  of  a  child.  Reason,  however,  soon 
taught  the  bard  that  the  deception  was  infinitely 
improved  by  being  reduced  within  the  compass 
of  probability;  and  the  second  fictions  introduced 
imaginary  persons  into  the  manners  and  dwel 
lings  of  real  life. 

PROPHECY 

March  10. 

No  talent  is  more  prized,  in  society,  than  that 
sagacity  which,  from  passing  events  draws  just  and 
profound  conclusions  regarding  their  future  ter- 


130  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

mination.  The  names  of  Burke,  Fox  and  Pitt 
deservedly  rank  high  in  the  world's  esteem  from 
the  success  of  their  political  predictions.  For  it 
argues  a  singular  elevation  of  mind  to  generalize 
so  calmly  in  the  conflicting  interests  and  par 
tialities  of  fortune,  to  see  something  inevitable  in 
the  almost  fortuitous  concurrence  of  affairs,  to 
cast  a  die  into  the  whirl  of  events,  and  rest  in  con 
fidence  of  its  return.  This,  however,  is  but  a  faint 
approach  to  the  majesty  of  that  remarkable  fore 
sight  which  was  exhibited  in  the  early  ages  of  the 
world,  and  termed  Prophecy.  For  the  one  is  of 
inferior  origin,  and  depends  altogether  upon  a 
shrewd  comparison  of  present  with  past  events, 
and  a  critical  attention  to  the  bias  and  results  of 
a  form  of  government,  of  a  national  character,  of 
a  popular  excitement.  The  other  grasps  at  indi 
cations  which  are  invisible  to  other  eyes,  and  pos 
sesses  a  new  faculty  of  communication  with  the 
universe.  It  does  not  follow  the  general  progress 
of  things  to  a  general  result,  but  singles  out,  with 
admirable  distinctness,  the  one  man  or  event,  for 
which  its  lips  were  opened ;  and,  entirely  desti 
tute  of  any  manifest  clue  to  its  knowledge,  de 
scribes,  with  a  precision  not  to  be  mistaken,  the 
character,  circumstances  and  use  of  things  which 
are  buried  in  a  futurity  of  many  ages.  It  sensibly 


,822]  PROPHECY  131 

elevates  our  notions  of  the  human  mind,  to  dis 
cover  in  it  this  latent  capacity  of  reaching  through 
the  accidents  of  time,  to  ascertain  a  destiny  be 
yond  the  possibility  of  cross  accidents  to  change. 
It  is  a  capacity  which  every  soul  looks  to  enjoy 
hereafter,  and  its  development  here  is  a  signal 
distinction  from  the  hand  of  Providence,  and 
an  earnest  to  the  soul  of  an  unclouded  vision  to 
come.  .  .  . 

[Wide  World,  No.  5,  is  missing  from  the 
Journals.] 


JOURNAL  VII 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.  6 

"  Maximus  part  us    temporis,"    quoth    giggling    Vanity. 
"Burn  the  trash,"  saith  Fear. 

There  the  Northern  light  reposes 
With  ruddy  flames  in  circles  bright 

Like  a  wreath  of  ruby  roses 
On  the  dusky  brow  of  night. 

DEDICATION 

BOSTON,  April  14,  1822. 
In  aforetime,  while  to  the  inhabitants  of  Europe 
the  existence  of  America  was  yet  a  secret  in  the 
heart  of  time,  there  dwelled  a  giant  upon  the 
South  Mountain  Chimborazo,  who  extended 
a  beneficent  dominion  over  hills  and  clouds  and 
continents,  and  sustained  a  communication  with 
his  mother  Nature.  He  lived  two  hundred 
years  in  that  rich  land,  causing  peace  and  jus 
tice,  and  he  battled  with  the  Mammoths  and 
slew  them.  Upon  the  summit  of  the  moun 
tain,  amid  the  snows  of  all  the  winters,  was  the 
mouth  of  a  cave  which  was  lined  with  golden 
ore.  This  cavity,  termed  "  The  Golden  Lips," 


i822]  DEDICATION  133 

admitted  downwards  into  the  centre  of  the 
mountain,  which  was  a  vast  and  spacious  tem 
ple,  and  all  its  walls  and  ceilings  glowing  with 
pure  gold.  Man  had  never  polluted  it  with 
his  tools  of  art.  Nature  fashioned  the  mighty 
tenement  for  the  bower  of  her  son.  At  mid 
day,  the  vertical  sun  was  perpendicular  to  the 
cavity,  and  poured  its  full  effulgence  upon  the 
mirror  floor ;  its  reflected  beams  blazed  on  all 
sides,  from  the  fretted  roof,  with  a  lustre  which 
eclipsed  the  elder  glory  of  the  temple  of  Solo 
mon.  In  the  centre  of  this  gorgeous  palace, 
bareheaded  and  alone,  the  Giant  Califo  per 
formed  the  incommunicable  rite,  and  studied 
the  lines  of  destiny.  When  the  sun  arrived  at 
the  meridian,  a  line  of  light  traced  this  inscrip 
tion  upon  the  wall :  —  "A  thousand  years,  a 
thousand  years,  and  the  Hand  shall  come,  and 
shall  tear  the  Veil  for  all."  Two  thousand 
rears  have  passed,  and  the  mighty  progress  of 

iprovement  and  civilization  have  been  form 
ing  the  force  which  shall  reveal  Nature  to  Man. 
To  roll  about  the  outskirts  of  this  Mystery 
and  ascertain  and  describe  its  pleasing  wonders 

-be  this  the  journey  of  my  Wideworld.  The 
Hand  shall  come  ;  —  I  traced  its  outline  in  the 

lists  of  the  morning. 


134  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

VAIN  WORLD 

Tuesday  Evening,  April  16. 
It  is  strange  that  a  world  should  be  so  dear 
which  speculatively  and  seriously  we  acknow 
ledge  to  be  so  unsatisfying  and  so  dark.  Not  all 
its  most  glorious  array  when  Nature  is  appar 
elled  in  her  best,  and  when  Art  toils  to  gratify, 
—  not  the  bright  sun  itself,  and  the  blazing 
firmament  wherein  he  stands  as  chief — can  pre 
vent  a  man,  at  certain  moments,  from  saying 
to  his  soul — "  It  is  vanity."  No  wild  guesses, 
no  elaborate  reasoning  can  surmount  this  tes 
timony  to  the  familiar  truth,  that  the  human 
spirit  hath  a  higher  origin  than  matter,  a  higher 
home  than  the  earth ;  that  it  is  too  capacious  to 
be  always  cheated  with  trifles,  and  too  long- 
lived  to  amalgamate  with  mortality.  .  .  . 

It  was  found  by  philosophy  that  luminous 
matter  wastes  itself  ever  ;  it  is  true  without  a 
metaphor  of  this  shining  world  which  goes  on 
decaying,  and  still  attracting  by  its  false  lustre. 

[POPULACE] 

It  is  a  matter  of  great  doubt  to  me  whether 
or  not  the  populace  of  all  ages  is  essentially  the 
same  in  character.  I  am  not  a  competent  judge 


1822]  POPULACE  135 

to  decide  if  inconsistent  institutions  will  affect 
and  alter  the  prominent  features  of  the  moral 
character.  There  can  be  no  question  that  from 
both  the  poles  to  the  Equator,  under  every  sun, 
man  will  be  found  selfish  and  comparatively  in 
different  to  the  general  welfare,  whenever  it  is 
put  in  competition  with  private  interest.  But 
in  China,  as  in  Venice,  will  faction  and  cabal 
always  watch  to  check  the  continuance  of  every 
administration,  good  or  bad?  Will  vulgar  blood 
always  rebel  and  rail,  and  against  honourable, 
virtuous  and  opulent  members  of  the  same 
society  ?  Will  the  good  always  be  in  peril  from 
the  misdeeds  and  menaces  of  the  bad  ?  In  the 
answer  to  these  interrogations,  truth  leads  re 
luctantly  towards  the  affirmative.  This  is  cer 
tain —  that  war  is  waged  in  the  Universe,  with 
out  truce  or  end,  between  Virtue  and  Vice  ;  they 
are  Light  and  Darkness,  they  cannot  harmonize. 
Upon  Earth  they  are  forcibly  consorted,  and  the 
perpetual  struggle  which  they  make,  separates 
by  a  distinct  line  man  from  man  throughout  the 
world. 


136  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

MARTYRDOM 

Saturday  Evening.  April. 
I  rejoice  in  the  full  and  unquestionable  testi 
mony  which  certifies  the  sufferings  of  Martyrs, 
as  the  most  undeniable  merit  of  the  human  race; 
it  proves  the  existence  of  a  consistency  and  force 
of  character  which  might  else  to  common  minds 
appear  chimerical.  .  .  .  In  those  moments  when 
a  desperate  view  of  the  wrong  side  of  society 
will  sometimes  totally  unsettle  our  convictions, 
and  reason  almost  leans  to  doubt  and  Atheism, 
because  the  world  is  frail  or  mad,  this  saving 
recollection  comes  up  like  an  angel  of  light  to 
assure  us  that  men  have  suffered  the  fierceness 
of  the  torture,  have  endured,  and  died  for  the 
faith.  .  .  .  To  keep  inviolate  the  divine  law, 
they  have  broken  over  the  law  of  nature  and  the 
native  fears  of  man  and  have  dared  to  immolate 
this  mysterious  existence  and  to  try  the  gulfs  of 
futurity.  .  .  . 

HABIT 

Habit  is  a  thing  of  compound  character  which 
forges  chains  for  human  nature  at  the  same  time 
that  it  announces  its  consistency  and  independ 
ence.  It  is  a  thorough  and  perfect  servitude,  but 


i822]  REFLECTIONS  137 

man  voluntarily  imposed  it  upon  himself.  It  is 
a  noble  foresight  which  at  once  determines  upon 
actions  that  will  be  perpetually  proper,  and  makes 
one  resolution  answer  for  a  thousand,  and  once 
made,  binds  with  divine  force.  When  we  con 
sider  it  as  an  instrument  —  put  into  the  hands  of 
Vice  and  Virtue,  which  both  may  wield  to  certain, 
to  vast  advantage,  we  shall  have  an  adequate  idea 
of  its  importance  in  the  constitution  of  human 
life.  In  childhood  it  is  given  into  the  power  of 
all  to  make  choice  between  Virtue  and  Vice,  to 
whom  he  will  commit  the  service  of  this  Magic 
Wand. 

Each  movement  of  the  Archangel  is  perhaps 
free  and  independent  of  every  former  one. 

Tuesday  Evening.  May  j. 
Amid  my  diseases  and  aches  and  qualms  I  will 
write  to  see  if  my  brains  are  gone.  For  a  day  or 
two  past  we  have  had  a  wind  precisely  annual; 
which  I  discovered  by  tbis,  that  I  have  a  return 
of  the  identical  thoughts  and  temperament  which 
I  had  a  year  ago.  But  this  sun  shines  upon,  and 
these  ill  winds  blow  over  a  changed  person  in 
condition,  in  hope.  I  was  then  delighted  with  my 
recent  honours,  traversing  my  chamber  (Hollis 


138  JOURNAL  [AGE  18 

9)  flushed  and  proud  of  a  poet's  fancies,  and  the 
day  when  they  were  to  be  exhibited ;  pleased  with 
ambitious  prospects,  and  careless  because  ignorant 
of  the  future.  But  now  I  am  a  hopeless  School 
master,  just  entering  upon  years  of  trade  to  which 
no  distinct  limit  is  placed;  toiling  through  this 
miserable  employment  even  without  the  poor 
satisfaction  of  discharging  it  well,  for  the  good 
suspect  me,  and  the  geese  dislike  me.  Then  again 
look  at  this :  there  was  pride  in  being  a  collegian, 
and  a  poet,  and  somewhat  romantic  in  my  queer 
acquaintance  with  -  — ,  and  poverty  presented 
nothing  mortifying  in  the  meeting  of  two  young 
men  whom  their  common  relation  and  character 
as  scholars  equalized;  But  when  one  becomes  a 
droning  schoolmaster,  and  the  other  is  advancing 
his  footing  in  good  company  and  fashionable 
friends,  the  cast  of  countenance  on  meeting  is 
somewhat  altered.  Hope,  it  is  true,  still  hangs 
out,  though  at  further  distance,  her  gay  banners ; 
but  I  have  found  her  a  cheat  once,  twice,  many 
times,  and  shall  I  trust  the  deceiver  again?  And 
what  am  I  the  better  for  two,  four,  six  years  delay  ? 
Nine  months  are  gone,  and  except  some  rags  of 
Wideworlds,  half  a  dozen  general  notions,  etc.,  I 
am  precisely  the  same  World's  humble  servant 
that  left  the  University  in  August.  Good  people 


•   &   '   '  s 

/       t'f 


SKETCHES  BY  EMERSON 

In  the  leaves  of  his  College  Journals 


i822]  MORTIFICATION  139 

will  tell  me  that  it  is  a  Judgment  and  lesson  for 
my  character,  to  make  me  fitter  for  the  office 
whereto  I  aspire ;  but  if  I  come  out  a  dispirited, 
mature,  broken-hearted  miscreant, — how  will 
man  or  myself  be  bettered?  Now  I  have  not 
thought,  all  this  time,  that  I  was  complaining  at 
Fate,  although  I  suppose  it  amounts  to  the  same ; 
these  are  the  suggestions  only  of  a  disappointed 
spirit  brooding  over  the  fall  of  castles  in  the  air. 
My  fate  is  enviable  contrasted  with  that  of 
others;  I  have  only  to  blame  myself  who  had  no 
right  to  build  them.  WALDO  E. 

"And  there  is  a  great  difference  whether  the 
tortoise  gathers  herself  within  her  shell  hurt  or 
unhurt." 

I  shall  bless  Cadmus,  or  Chad,  or  Hermes, 
for  inventing  letters  and  written  language — you, 
my  dear  little  Wideworld,  deducing  your  pedi 
gree  from  that  pretty  event. 

May  13. 

In  twelve  days  I  shall  be  nineteen  years  old; 
which  I  count  a  miserable  thing.  Has  any  other 
educated  person  lived  so  many  years  and  lost  so 
many  days?  I  do  not  say  acquired  so  little,  for 
by  an  ease  of  thought  and  certain  looseness  of 


JOURNAL  [AGE  1 8 

mind  I  have  perhaps  been  the  subject  of  as  many 
ideas  as  many  of  mine  age.  But  mine  approach 
ing  maturity  is  attended  with  a  goading  sense  of 
emptiness  and  wasted  capacity;  with  the  convic 
tion  that  vanity  has  been  content  to  admire  the 
little  circle  of  natural  accomplishments,  and  has 
travelled  again  and  again  the  narrow  round,  in 
stead  of  adding  sedulously  the  gems  of  knowledge 
to  their  number.  Too  tired  and  too  indolent  to 
travel  up  the  mountain  path  which  leads  to  good 
learning,  to  wisdom  and  to  fame,  I  must  be  sat 
isfied  with  beholding  with  an  envious  eye  the 
labourious  journey  and  final  success  of  my  fel 
lows,  remaining  stationary  myself,  until  my  in 
feriors  and  juniors  have  reached  and  outgone  me. 
And  how  long  is  this  to  last?  How  long  shall  I 
hold  the  little  acclivity  which  four  or  six  years 
ago  I  flattered  myself  was  enviable,  but  which 
has  become  contemptible  now?  It  is  a  child's 
place,  and  if  I  hold  it  longer,  I  may  quite  as  well 
resume  the  bauble  and  rattle,  grow  old  with  a 
baby's  red  jockey  on  my  grey  head  and  a  picture- 
book  in  my  hand,  instead  of  Plato  and  Newton. 
Well,  and  I  am  he  who  nourished  brilliant  vi 
sions  of  future  grandeur  which  may  well  appear 
presumptuous  and  foolish  now.  My  infant  im 
agination  was  idolatrous  of  glory,  and  thought 


i822]  MORTIFICATION  141 

itself  no  mean  pretender  to  the  honours  of  those 
who  stood  highest  in  the  community,  and  dared 
even  to  contend  for  fame  with  those  who  are 
hallowed  by  time  and  the  approbation  of  ages. 
It  was  a  little  merit  to  conceive  such  animating 
hopes,  and  afforded  some  poor  prospect  of  the 
possibility  of  their  fulfilment.  This  hope  was  fed 
and  fanned  by  the  occasional  lofty  communica 
tions  which  were  vouchsafed  to  me  with  the 
Muses'  Heaven,  and  which  have  at  intervals 
made  me  the  organ  of  remarkable  sentiments  and 
feelings  which  were  far  above  my  ordinary  train. 
And  with  this  lingering  earnest  of  better  hope  (I 
refer  to  this  fine  exhilaration  which  now  and  then 
quickens  my  clay)  shall  I  resign  every  aspiration 
to  belong  to  that  family  of  giant  minds  which 
live  on  earth  many  ages  and  rule  the  world  when 
their  bones  are  slumbering,  no  matter  whether 
under  a  pyramid  or  a  primrose  ?  No,  I  will  yet 
a  little  while  entertain  the  angel. 

Look  next  from  the  history  of  my  intellect 
to  the  history  of  my  heart.  A  blank,  my  lord.  I 
have  not  the  kind  affections  of  a  pigeon.  Ungen 
erous  and  selfish, cautious  and  cold,  I  yet  wish  to 
be  romantic ;  have  not  sufficient  feeling  to  speak  a 
natural,  hearty  welcome  to  a  friend  or  stranger, 
and  yet  send  abroad  wishes  and  fancies  of  a  friend- 


142  JOURNAL  [AGE  ig 

ship  with  a  man  I  never  knew.  There  is  not  in 
the  whole  wide  Universe  of  God  (my  relations 
to  Himself  I  do  not  understand)  one  being  to 
whom  I  am  attached  with  warm  and  entire  de 
votion, —  not  a  being  to  whom  I  have  joined  fate 
for  weal  or  wo,  not  one  whose  interests  I  have 
nearly  and  dearly  at  heart ; — and  this  I  say  at 
the  most  susceptible  age  of  man.  Perhaps  at  the 
distance  of  a  score  of  years,  if  I  then  inhabit  this 
world,  or  still  more,  if  I  do  not,  these  will  appear 
frightful  confessions ;  they  may  or  may  not,  — 
it  is  a  true  picture  of  a  barren  and  desolate  soul.1 

(Be  it  remembered  that  it  was  last  evening  that 
I  heard  that  prodigious  display  of  eloquence  in 
Faneuil  Hall,  by  Mr  Otis,  which  astonished  and 
delighted  me  above  any  thing  of  the  kind  I  ever 
witnessed.) 

I  love  my  Wide  Worlds. 

My  body  weighs  144  pounds.  —  In  a  fortnight 
I  intend,  Deo  vo/ente,  to  make  a  journey  on  foot. 

I  These  utterances  are  not  to  be  taken  too  seriously.  The  boy's 
ascetic  life  and  close  confinement  at  his  necessary  and  his  self- 
imposed  work  have  wrought  their  natural  result.  These  are  the 
first  symptoms  of  the  general  vital  depression  which,  in  the  next 
five  years,  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  For  his  mother  and  brothers 
he  always  had  a  strong  affection  and  loyalty. 


i82z]  MARATHON  143 

Amonth  hence  I  will  answer thequestion  whether 
the  pleasure  was  only  in  the  hope. 

MARATHON 

Go  hide  the  shields  of  war, 

The  clarion  and  the  spear, 

The  plume  of  pride  and  scimetar, 

Vain  trophies  of  a  bier. 

They  have  digged  a  thousand  graves 

In  Marathon  today ; 

Their  dirge  is  sounded  by  the  waves 

Which  wash  the  slain  away. 
The  hearth  is  forsaken,  the  Furies  are  fed, — 
Wake,  Maidens  of  Athens  !  your  wail  for  the  dead. 

The  Persian's  golden  car, 

And  image  of  the  Sun 

In  flashing  light  rolled  fast  and  far 

O'er  echoing  Marathon. 

He  mourns  his  quenched  beam, 

His  slain  and  broken  host, 

He  curses  glory's  dream 

Which  lured  him  to  be  lost. 
His  rose-wreath  is  dyed  with  a  bloody  stain 
And  the  Genius  of  Asia  shrieks  Shame  !  to  the  slain. 

lo  !  Minerva  !  Hail ! 
What  Argive  Harp  is  dumb  ? 
The  triumph  loads  the  gale, 
The  laurelled  victors  come  ! 


144  JOURNAL  [AGE  is 

There  's  a  light  in  Victory's  eye 

Which  none  but  God  can  give  ; 

And  a  name  can  never  die  — 

Apollo  bids  it  live. 

The  daughters  of  Music  have  learned  your  name, 
And  Athens,  and  Earth,  shall  reecho  your  fame. 


May  24,  1822. 

And  now  it  is  Friday  at  even,  and  I  am  come 
to  take  leave  of  my  pleasant  Wideworld,  for  a 
little  time,  and  commence  my  journey  tomorrow. 
I  look  to  many  pleasures  in  my  fortnight's  ab 
sence,  but  neither  is  my  temperament  so  vola 
tile  and  gay,  nor  my  zeal  so  strong  as  to  make 
my  expectations  set  aside  the  possibility  of  dis 
appointment.  I  am  so  young  an  adventurer,  that 
I  am  alive  to  regret  and  sentiment  upon  so  little 
an  occasion  as  this  parting ;  though  one  would 
judge  from  my  late  whispered  execrations  of  the 
school  that  a  short  suspension  of  its  mortifica 
tions  would  be  exceedingly  delightful.  I  may  also 
observe  here  that  I  had  never  suspected  myself 
of  so  much  feeling  as  rose  within  me  at  taking 
leave  of  Mrs.  E.  at  the  water  side  and  seeing 
so  delicate  a  lady  getting  into  a  boat  from  those 
steep  wharf-stairs  among  sailors  and  labourers; 
and  leaving  her  native  shore  for  Louisiana  with- 


1822]     SHAKSPEARE.     NATURE      145 

out  a  single  friend  or  relation  attending  her  to 
the  shore,  and  seeing  her  depart. — For  myself 
I  was  introduced  to  her  upon  the  wharf.  Her 
husband  behaved  very  well.  God  speed  them  ! l 
Mem.  Certain  lines  in  Anthony  and  Cleopatra 
about  a  "  hoop  of  affection  so  staunch,"  etc. ;  find 
it.2  How  noble  a  masterpiece  is  the  tragedy  of 
Hamlet:  it  can  only  be  spoken  of  and  described 
by  superlatives.  There  is  a  deep  and  subtle  wit, 
with  an  infinite  variety,  and  every  line  is  golden. 

Sunday  Evening,'  June  9.3 
If  a  man  could  go  into  the  country  but  once, 
as  to  some  raree-shew,  or  if  it  were  indulged  by 
God  but  to  a  single  individual  to  behold  the 

I  R.  W.  E.'s  (later)  note.  She  is  dead  and  her  hus 
band  also,  a  thousand  miles  away  from  their  kindred. 

2    "If  I  did  know 

A  hoop  to  hold  us  staunch,  from  edge  to  edge 
O'  the  world  I'd  seek  it." 

Anthony  and  Cleopatra. 

3  Some  account  of  this  walking  journey  of  Ralph  and 
William  is  given  by  the  former  in  a  letter  to  his  Aunt  Mary 
Emerson,  printed  by  Mr.  Cabot  in  the  Memoir  (vol.  I,  pages 
78-79).  They  walked  to  Northborough,  found  a  pretty  farm 
house,  where  they  were  received  as  boarders  for  a  week.  This 
was  near  Little  Chauncey  Pond,  which  they  crossed  in  a  boat 
and  betook  themselves  to  great  woods  beyond.  They  enjoyed 


146  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

majesty  of  nature,  I  think  the  credit  and  mag 
nificence  of  Art  would  fall  suddenly  to  the 
ground.  For  take  away  the  cheapness  and  ease 
of  acquisition  which  lessen  our  estimation  of  its 
value,  and  who  could  suddenly  find  himself 
alone  in  the  green  fields  where  the  whole  firma 
ment  meets  the  eye  at  once,  and  the  ppmp  of 
woods  and  clouds  and  hills  is  poured  upon  the 
mind — without  an  unearthly  animation  ?  Upon 
a  mountain  solitude  a  man  instantly  feels  a  sen 
sible  exaltation  and  a  better  claim  to  his  rights 
in  the  universe.  He  who  wanders  in  the  woods 
perceives  how  natural  it  was  to  pagan  imagination 
to  find  gods  in  every  deep  grove  and  by  each 
fountain  head.  Nature  seems  to  him  not  to  be 
silent  but  to  be  eager  and  striving  to  break  out 
into  music.  Each  tree,  flower  and  stone,  he  in 
vests  with  life  and  character;  and  it  is  impossible 
that  the  wind  which  breathes  so  expressive  a 
sound  amid  the  leaves — should  mean  nothing. 
.  .  .  The  embowered  cottage  and  solitary  farm 
house  display  to  you  the  same  mingled  picture 
of  frankness  and  meanness,  pride  and  poverty 
of  feeling,  fraud  and  charity,  which  are  encom- 

themselves  highly,  did  little  reading  or  writing,  but  found  rest 
and  "  an  exhilarating  Paradise  air  ' '  which  was  much  better  for 
them. 


i82z]  DRAMA  147 

passed  with  brick  walls  in  the  city.  Every  pleas 
ant  feature  is  balanced  by  somewhat  painful.  To 
the  stranger,  the  simplicity  of  manners  is  delight 
ful  and  carries  the  memory  back  to  the  Arcadian 
reign  of  Saturn;  and  the  primitive  custom  of 
saluting  every  passenger  is  an  agreeable  acknow 
ledgement  of  common  sympathies,  and  a  common 
nature.1  But  from  the  want  of  an  upper  class  in 
society,  from  the  admirable  republican  equality 
which  levels  one  with  all,  results  a  rudeness  and 
sometimes  a  savageness  of  manners  which  is  apt 
to  disgust  a  polished  and  courtly  man. 

DRAMA2 

June  10. 

There  are  two  natures  in  man,  —  flesh  and 
spirit,  —  whose  tendencies  are  wide  as  the  uni 
verse  asunder,  and  from  whose  miraculous  com 
bination  it  arises  that  he  is  urged  alway  by  the 

1  Mr.  Emerson  kept  up  this  kindly  custom  in  his  walks  on 
country-roads  through  his  life. 

2  This  is  the  latter  part  of  an  attack  on  the  Drama  for  its 
depraving  quality  (everywhere  a  moral  poison  disguised  and 
sweetened  by  art)  ending  with  a  conventional  picturing  of  the 
soul  at  the  Judgment  Day  confounded  by  the  record  of  misspent 
time.  Then,  as  in  the  earlier  passages  on  the  same  subject,  Emer 
son  abruptly  turns  to  praise  the  theory  of  the  Drama  and  its  pos 
sibilities  for  good,  if  reformed. 


148  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

visible  eloquent  image  of  Truth,  toward  immor 
tal  perfection,  and  allured  aside  from  the  painful 
pursuit  by  gross  but  fascinating  pleasure.  The 
worst  form  under  which  temptation  entices  our 
weaknesses  when  it  plots  to  make  the  soul  a  pan 
der  to  the  sense,  by  winning  the  mind  to  the  plea 
sures  of  lofty  sentiment  and  sublime  fiction,  and 
insinuating  amid  this  parade  of  moral  beauty  its 
pernicious  incentives  to  crime,  and  invitations  to 
folly.  It  is  a  fatal  twilight,  in  which  darkness  is 
sown  with  light,  until  the  perverted  judgment 
learns  to  think  that  the  whole  spectacle  is  more 
harmonious,  and  better  accommodated  to  his 
feeble  human  sense.  But  be  assured,  the  light 
shall  grow  less  and  less,  and  shade  shall  be  added 
to  shade.  .  .  . 

The  Platonist .  .  .  did  not  widely  err  who  pro 
claimed  the  existence  of  two  warring  principles, 
the  incorruptible  mind,  and  the  mass  of  malig 
nant  matter.  This  was  a  creed  which  was  often 
damned  as  heresy  by  the  infallible  church ;  happy 
if  they  had  never  devised  a  worse.  In  their  at 
tempts  to  escape  from  this  inherent  corruption, 
and  correct  the  imperfection  of  nature,  they 
went  wrong  with  delirious  zeal ;  but  eternal  truth 
founded  the  basis  of  their  belief.  .  .  . 

The  theory  of  the  drama  is,  in  itself,  so  beauti- 


1822]  DRAMA  149 

ful,  and  so  well  designed  to  work  good,  that  we 
feel  forcibly  what  a  pity  it  is,  that  its  concentrat 
ing  interest,  its  unequalled  power  of  conveying 
instruction  and  the  delight  inspired  by  its  ordi 
nary  decorations  should  be  so  miserably  perverted 
to  the  service  of  sin.  It  might  aid  Virtue,  and  lend 
its  skilful  powers  to  the  adornment  of  truth;  its 
first  form  was  a  hymn  to  the  gods,  and  a  moni 
tory  voice  to  human  frailty,  and  human  passion. 
Now,  it  seduces  to  Pleasure  and  leads  on  to  Death, 
and  the  shadows  of  Eternity  settle  over  its  termi 
nation. 

I  think  it  is  pretty  well  known  that  more  is 
gained  to  a  man's  business  by  one  half  hour's 
conversation  with  his  friend,  than  by  very  many 
letters;  for,  face  to  face,  each  can  distinctly  state 
his  own  views ;  and  each  chief  objection  is 
started  and  answered ;  and,  moreover,  a  more 
definite  notion  of  one's  sentiments  and  inten 
tions,  with  regard  to  the  matter,  are  gathered 
from  his  look  and  tones,  than  it  is  possible  to 
gain  from  paper.  It  is  therefore  a  hint  borrowed 
from  Nature,  when  a  lesson  of  morals  is  con 
veyed  to  an  audience  in  the  engaging  form  of  a 
dialogue,  instead  of  the  silence  of  a  book,  or 
the  cold  soliloquy  of  an  orator.  When  this  di 
dactic  dialogue  is  improved  by  the  addition  of 


150  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

pathetic  or  romantic  circumstances,  and,  in  the 
place  of  indifferent  speakers,  we  are  presented 
with  the  characters  of  great  and  good  men,  of 
heroes  and  demigods,  thus  adding  to  the  senti 
ments  expressed  the  vast  weight  of  virtuous 
life  and  character  —  the  wit  of  the  invention  is 
doubled.  Lastly,  a  general  moral  is  drawn  from 
an  event  where  all  the  parts  of  the  piece  are 
made  to  tend  and  terminate ;  this  is  what  is 
called  the  distribution  of  poetical  justice,  and 
is  nothing  but  an  inevitable  inference  of  some 
great  moral  truth,  which  the  mind  readily  makes, 
upon  the  turn  of  affairs.  For  greater  delight, 
we  add  music,  painting  and  poetry,  well  aware 
that  the  splendour  of  embellishment  will  fix  the 
eye,  after  the  mind  grows  weary.  These  are 
the  advantages  comprehended  in  the  dramatic 
art.  Truths  otherwise  impertinent,  are  told  with 
admirable  effect  in  this  little  epitome  of  life ; 
and  every  philosophic  Christian  must  be  loth 
to  lose  to  religion,  an  instrument  of  such  tried 

powers. 

GOD  I 

.  .  .  Simonides  said  well,  "Give  me  twice 
the  time,  for  the  more  I  think,  the  more  it  en 
larges*';  and  it  is  only  mathematical  truth;  for 
I    Extracts  from  a  long  passage  on  this  theme. 


i822]  GOD  151 

when  the  subject  is  infinite,  it  must  be,  that, 
in  proportion  as  discipline  enlarges  the  capa 
city  of  the  powers  to  comprehend  a  portion  of 
the  line,  so  much  the  more  of  the  line  will  be 
continually  discerned,  extending  above  and  be 
yond  the  straining  orbs  of  imagination.  It  is, 
nevertheless,  apparent  in  the  munificent  en 
dowment  of  the  human  intellect,  that  provi 
sion  has  been  made  to  enable  it  to  proceed  to 
some  distinct  knowledge  of  this  Being  whom 
in  darkness  we  adore.  Witness  some  of  those 
admirable  demonstrations  of  the  existence  and 
attributes  which  various  minds  in  various  ages 
have  fallen  upon,  and  which  we  record  as  the 
best  monuments  of  human  wit.  And  I  regard 
this  rather  as  a  glimpse  and  earnest  of  the  light 
which  shall  break  upon  the  soul  when  its  cum 
bering  flesh  bond  is  broken,  —  of  the  glory  that 
shall  be  revealed  —  than  as  any  solitary  or  for 
tuitous  discovery  which  may  stand  unconnected 
with  the  past  or  the  future.  For  is  it  not  nat 
ural  to  believe  that — out  of  earth,  and  men  of 
clay  —  the  Deity  is  the  great  engrossing  theme 
which  absorbs  the  wonder  as  well  as  the  devo 
tion  of  the  disembodied  spirits  that  people  his 
creation  ?  And  is  it  not  to  be  presumed  that 
the  soul  will  be  furnished  with  some  under- 


152  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

standing  of  his  strength  when  she  enters  on 
the  scene  where  his  divinity  is  displayed  ?  The 
lisping  infant,  on  earth,  stammers  the  name  of 
God ;  and  shall  the  Archangel,  whose  gigantic 
intelligence  displays  the  education  of  heaven, 
stand  silent  beneath  the  very  Cloud  ?  Man 
kind  have  naturally  conceived  the  joy  of  that 
spiritual  estate  to  consist  in  the  satisfaction  and 
delight  of  certain  high  intellectual  exercises,  of 
which  our  best  and  loftiest  contemplations  afford 
some  faint  symbol.  And  this  notion  is  natural 
and  consistent  with  their  condition  ;  for  they 
have  left  the  obstruction  of  a  material  universe, 
and  dwell  now  in  the  majesty  of  thought,  in  a 
grand  inconceivable  dependence  of  mind  upon 
the  great  Source  of  intelligence,  and  are  there 
fore  in  a  situation  to  pursue  those  inquiries 
which  mocked  the  researches  of  finite  beings, 
but  which  invite  the  study  of  those  to  whom 
the  sources  of  wisdom,  and  the  riches  of  the 
unseen  state  are  laid  open.  In  this  state  and 
with  these  opportunities,  a  little  meditation  will 
make  it  plain,  that  there  can  be,  in  heaven  or 
earth,  no  thought  which  can  so  concentrate  and 
absorb  the  living  spirit  as  the  idea  of  God. 

What  will  divert  our  attention,  and  attach  our 


1822]  GOD  153 

affections  in  the  long,  long  Day  wherein  the  fac 
ulties  shall  enjoy  an  eternal  exercise?  Perhaps  in 
the  communion  of  departed  wisdom  and  virtue ;  in 
the  society  of  Socrates,  Plato,  and  St.  Paul.  Be 
it  so ;  it  is  a  rational  and  authorized  hope.  We 
respect  and  admire  the  life  and  character  of  these 
eminent  individuals ;  they  appeared  to  possess  an 
intimate  familiarity  with  the  profoundest  prin 
ciples  of  philosophy,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
power  to  express  them  with  the  most  perfect 
simplicity  in  their  conversation  and  in  their  books. 
It  is  natural  to  look  to  these  great  masters  of 
mankind  as  qualified  in  another  state  to  give  us 
our  introduction  to  its  mysteries  and  joys. 

But  consider  a  moment,  if  a  celestial  spirit 
could  be  so  besotted  as  to  prefer  the  little  flights 
of  a  spirit  which  is  its  peer,  to  the  inconceivable 
intellect  which  kindles  all  and  overwhelms  all. 
Let  it  compare  for  a  moment  the  history  of  the 
two  Beings.  One  lived  upon  earth  its  span,  and 
was  then  swallowed  into  the  multitude  of  men, 
leaving  no  trace  of  its  existence,  except,  perhaps, 
a  little  book,  or  its  name,  or  its  monument.  But 
if  your  mind  be  strung  to  an  elevated  tone,  try 
to  comprehend  the  history  of  the  Other;  —  A 
stream  without  a  source,  an  age  without  an  in 
fancy, —  the  mind  resorts  in  vain  to  its  highest 


154  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

antiquity  to  seek  the  commencement  of  the 
Ancient  of  Days.  It  can  only  pursue  a  few  days 
of  his  history  in  the  immensity  of  his  works. 
In  a  few  days  he  built  the  world  and  the  firma 
ment,  and  in  the  darkness  of  the  Universe  he  lit 
the  sun;  he  created  man  and  beast;  he  arranged 
the  seasons  and  provided  for  the  preservation  of 
the  Order  established;  he  arched  the  rainbow 
and  gathered  the  clouds,  the  granaries  of  his  hail, 
of  the  lightning  and  thunder.  That  immeasur 
able  existence  upon  such  an  insignificant  portion 
of  which  the  eye  of  all  mankind  rests  with  won 
der — we  conceive  to  have  been  spent  in  similar 
employment  throughout  his  infinite  kingdom; 
and  that  Being  is  well  worthy  of  prostrate  adora 
tion  to  whom  we  ascribe  an  eternity,  every  mo 
ment  of  which  hath  been  signalized  by  a  scheme 
of  preserving  providence,  by  a  plan  of  redemp 
tion,  by  the  informing  of  angelic  intellect,  or  by 
the  creation  of  a  world.  One  chief  reason  why 
the  human  soul  is  so  prone  to  neglect  or  avoid 
this  idea,  is  because  it  is  so  unsatisfactory,  bein| 
almost  entirely  above  the  attainment  of  our  weak 
powers;  but,  in  the  upper  state,  when  this  weak 
ness  is  removed,  and  our  faculties  are  taught  to 
soar  up  to  the  very  Throne  —  I  need  not  asl 
if  the  mind  could  be  so  blind  as  to  admire  th< 


i822]  GOD  155 

spark,  in  the  presence  of  that  fire  whence  it 

came. 

Sunday  Morn. 

On  such  employments  we  anticipate  the  happi 
ness  of  heaven  to  depend.  That  any  approxima 
tion  to  such  spiritual  elevation  can  be  made  on 
earth,  will  be  believed  by  some  and  denied  by 
others.  The  reasons  why  we  are  no  more  strongly 
attracted,  are  plainly  seen,  and  are  lodged  within 
ourselves.  [For]  the  mind  does  not  yet  exist  but 
in  an  infant  state,  and  waits  for  a  development  in 
another  world.  But  there  have  been  men  at  vari 
ous  intervals,  in  the  world,  who  by  some  remark 
able  fortune,  or  remarkable  effort,  have  rendered 
themselves  less  liable  to  the  suggestions  of  sense, 
and  have,  in  a  manner,  departed  from  the  pur 
suits  and  habits  of  men  to  hold  strict  conversation 
with  the  attributes  of  Deity,  and,  in  the  emphatic 
language  of  the  Hebrew  historian,  to  walk  with 
God.  And  there  are  certain  facilities  for  this 
enlarged  communion  which  sometimes  occur,  to 
give  direction  and  aid  to  the  feebleness  of  nature. 
The  astronomer  who,  by  reason  of  the  littleness 
of  the  earth,  would  be  able  to  learn  next  to  nothing 
of  the  distance  and  magnitudes  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  can  yet  take  advantage  of  its  revolutions 
around  the  Sun,  and  thus  move  his  instruments 


156  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

about  in  the  universe,  across  the  vast  orbit  of  his 
planet;  so  the  lapse  of  ages  may  sometimes  ena 
ble  the  devout  philosopher  to  trace  the  design  of 
Providence,  otherwise  above  his  comprehension, 
by  reducing  to  a  miniature  view,  a  magnificent 
course  of  events. 

The  Being  which  we  adore  must  of  necessity 
be  adorable.  Where  gat  we  the  idea  —  so  differ 
ent  from  our  other  ideas  —  of  somewhat  so  tran- 
scendant  and  sublime  ?  .  .  .  The  only  answer 
which  we  are  compelled  to  receive  is  that  the  In 
telligence  who  formed  our  minds  adjusted  them 
in  such  manner  as  to  admit  suitable  notions  of 
himself  from  the  exhibition  of  his  works,  or  from 
the  consciousness  of  our  own  existence.  What 
must  be  that  existence  to  which  every  star,  every 
leaf,  every  drop  in  the  creation  testifies,  by  their 
strange  and  unaccountable  formation !  Towards 
that  object  the  eyes  of  all  generations  have 
successively  turned,  by  an  universal  instinctive 
impulse  ;  and  we  are  actuated  by  a  portion  of 
the  same  inspiration  when  we  pronounce  the 
great  name  of  God.  And  when  the  mute  crea 
tion  with  irresistable  force  points  our  inquiries  to 
Him,  it  becomes  a  truly  admirable  spectacle  to 
behold  this  wise  sympathy  throughout  nature, 


1822]  GOD  157 

of  imperfect  beings   consenting  to  adore  per 
fection. 

Si  ulla  fuit  genitalis  origo 
Terrarum  et  coeli,  semperque  aeterna  fuere, 
Cur  supra  bellum  Thebanum,  et  funera  Trojae, 
Non  alias  alii  quoque  res  cecinere  poetae  ? 

LUCRETIUS. 

I  know  nothing  more  fit  to  conclude  the 
remarks  which  have  been  made  in  the  last  pages 
than  certain  fine  pagan  strains. 

.  .  .    "  Of  dew-bespangled  leaves  and  blossoms  bright 

Hence  !  vanish  from  my  sight, 

Delusive  pictures !  unsubstantial  shews  ! 

My  soul  absorbed,  one  only  Being  knows, 

Of  all  perceptions,  one  abundant  source, 

Hence  every  object,  every  moment  flows, 

Suns  hence  derive  their  force, 

Hence  planets  learn  their  course ; 

But  suns  and  fading  worlds  I  view  no  more, 

God  only  I  perceive,  God  only  I  adore !  " 

[NARAYENA;  Sir  William  Jones's  translation.^ 

DIFFERING    RANK    OF    NATIONS 

July  6. 

What  imparted  that  impulse  to  Greece  which 
may  be  said  to  have  created  literature,  which  has 
been  communicated  through  Rome  to  the  world? 


158  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

It  is  a  curious  spectacle  to  a  contemplative  man 
to  observe  a  little  population  of  twelve  or  twenty 
thousand  men  for  a  couple  of  generations  setting 
their  minds  at  work  more  diligently  than  men 
were  accustomed,  and  effecting  something  alto 
gether  new  and  strange;  to  see  them  lie  quietly 
down  again  in  darkness,  while  all  the  nations 
of  the  world  rise  up  to  do  them  a  vain  reverence; 
and  all  the  wisest  among  them  exhausting  their 
powers  to  make  a  faint  imitation  of  some  one 
excellence  of  Greece  in  her  age  of  glory;  to  see 
this  admiration  continued  and  augmented  as  the 
world  grows  older,  and  with  all  the  advantages 
of  an  experience  of  6000  years  to  find  those 
departed  artists  never  paralleled.  It  certainly  is 
the  most  manly  literature  in  the  world,  being 
composed  of  histories,  orations,  poems,  and  dra 
matic  pieces,  in  which  no  sign  of  accommodation 
is  discovered  to  the  whims  of  fashion  or  patron 
age.  Simplicity  is  a  remarkable  characteristic  of 
the  productions  of  all  the  ancient  masters.  Upon 
their  most  admirable  statue  they  were  content  to 
engrave,  " Apollodorus  the  Ephesian  made  it"; 
and  we  respect  the  republican  brevity  which,  in 
the  place  of  a  studied  eulogium  upon  a  drama 
which  had  been  represented  with  unbounded  ap 
plause,  simply  wrote,  "Placuit"  (it  pleased). 


i822]  LICOO  159 

LICOO 

"  Let  us  plait  the  garland  and  weave  the  chi, 
While  the  wild  waves  dash  on  our  iron  strand ; 
Tomorrow,  these  waves  may  wash  our  graves, 
And  the  moon  look  down  on  a  ruined  land."  * 

The  islanders  who  sung  this  melancholy  song, 
presaging  the  evil  fates  which  waited  for  them 
—  have  passed  away.  No  girdled  chieftain  sits 
upon  their  grim  rocks  to  watch  the  dance  of  his 
tribe  beneath  the  yellow  lustre  of  the  Moon ;  the 
moan  of  the  waves  is  the  only  voice  in  their 
silent-land;  the  moan  of  the  waves  is  the  only 
requiem  of  the  brave  who  are  buried  on  the  sea 
shore  or  in  the  main.  But  their  memory  has  not 
failed  from  among  men;  the  mournful  notes 
which  foreboded  their  fall  have  given  it  immor 
tality.  For  there  is  a  charm  in  poetry,  which 
binds  the  world,  and  finds  its  effect  in  the  East 
and  in  the  West. 

"  Let  me  not,  like  a  worm,  go  by  the  way." 

CHAUCER. 

I  This  poem,  in  which  Mr.  Emerson  took  delight  in  his 
youth,  and  often  referred  to,  is  printed  in  his  Parnassus  under 
the  title  "Song  of  the  Tonga  Islanders7';  author  unknown. 


JOURNAL  VIII 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.  7 


Ttrfrv  yap  ryv  oA^ctav,  v<}>'  ^s  ovSets  TTWTTOTC 

MARCUS  ANTONINUS. 

DEDICATION 

BOSTON,  July  n,  1822. 

I  dedicate  my  book  to  the  Spirit  of  America. 
I  dedicate  it  to  that  living  soul,  which  doth 
exist  somewhere  beyond  the  Fancy,  to  whom 
the  Divinity  hath  assigned  the  care  of  this  bright 
corner  of  the  Universe.  I  bring  my  little  offer 
ing,  in  this  month,  which  covers  the  continent 
with  matchless  beauty,  to  the  shrine,  which 
distant  generations  shall  load  with  sacrifice,  and 
distant  ages  shall  admire  afar  off.  With  a  spark 
of  prophetic  devotion,  I  hasten  to  hail  the 
Genius,  who  yet  counts  the  tardy  years  of 
childhood,  but  who  is  increasing  unawares  in 
the  twilight,  and  swelling  into  strength,  until 
the  hour  when  he  shall  break  the  cloud,  to 
shew  his  colossal  youth,  and  cover  the  firma 
ment  with  the  shadow  of  his  wings. 


i822]  AMERICA  161 

Evening. 

It  is  a  slow  patriotism  which  forgets  to  love 
till  all  the  world  have  set  the  example.  If  the 
nations  of  Europe  can  find  anything  to  idolize 
in  their  ruinous  and  enslaved  institutions,  we 
are  content,  though  we  are  astonished  at  their 
satisfaction.  But  let  them  not  ignorantly  mock 
at  the  pride  of  an  American,  as  if  it  were  mis 
placed  or  unfounded,  when  that  freeman  is 
giving  an  imperfect  expression  to  his  sense  of 
his  condition.  He  rejoices  in  the  birthright  of 
a  country  where  the  freedom  of  opinion  and 
action  is  so  perfect  that  every  man  enjoys  exactly 
that  consideration  to  which  he  is  entitled,  and 
each  mind,  as  in  the  bosom  of  a  family,  insti 
tutes  and  settles  a  comparison  of  its  powers 
with  those  of  its  fellow,  and  quietly  takes  that 
stand  which  nature  intended  for  it.  He  points 
to  his  native  land  as  the  only  one  where  free 
dom  has  not  degenerated  to  licentiousness  ;  in 
whose  well-ordered  districts  education  and  in 
telligence  dwell  with  good  morals ;  whose  rich 
estates  peacefully  descend  from  sire  to  son,  with 
out  the  shadow  of  an  interference  from  private 
violence,  or  public  tyranny ;  whose  offices  of 
trust  and  seats  of  science  are  filled  by  minds  of 
republican  strength  and  elegant  accomplish- 


162  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

ments.1  Xenophon  and  Thucydides  would  have 
thought  it  a  theme  better  worthy  of  their  powers, 
than  Persia  or  Greece;  and  her  Revolution  would 
furnish  Plutarch  with  a  list  of  heroes.  If  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States  outlives  a 
century,  it  will  be  matter  of  deep  congratula 
tion  to  the  human  race  ;  for  the  Utopian  dreams 
which  visionaries  have  pursued  and  sages  ex 
ploded,  will  find  their  beautiful  theories  rivalled 
and  outdone  by  the  reality,  which  it  has  pleased 
God  to  bestow  upon  United  America. 

Saturday  Evening,  July  13. 
(Continued  from  Wide  World,  No.  6) 

I  have  proposed  to  attempt  the  consideration 
of  those  different  aspects,  under  which  we  are 
accustomed  to  view  the  Divinity.  I  shall  en 
deavour  first  to  give  some  account  of  his  relation 
to  us  as  the  founder  of  the  Moral  law. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  describe  that  law,  other 
wise  than  by  saying  that  it  is  the  sovereign 
necessity  which  commands  every  mind  to  abide 
by  one  mode  of  conduct  and  to  reject  another, 

i  Such  an  one  died  yesterday.  Professor  Frisbie  will 
hardly  be  supplied  by  any  man  in  the  community.  [Levi 
Frisbie,  Alford  Professor  of  Natural  Religion,  Moral  Philosophy 
and  Civil  Polity.]  (R.  W.  E.) 


i822]  MORAL   LAW  163 

by  joining  to  the  one  a  perfect  satisfaction, 
while  it  pursues  the  other  with  indefinite  appre 
hensions. 

Its  divine  origin  is  fully  shown  by  its  supe 
riority  to  all  the  other  principles  of  our  nature. 
It  seems  to  be  more  essential  to  our  constitu 
tion  than  any  other  feeling  whatever.  It  dwells 
so  deeply  in  the  human  nature  that  we  feel  it  to 
be  implied  in  consciousness.  Other  faculties  fail, 
—  Memory  sleeps;  Judgment  is  impaired  or 
ruined;  Imagination  droops,  —  but  the  moral 
sense  abides  there  still.  In  our  very  dreams,  it 
wakes  and  judges  amid  the  Chaos  of  the  rest. 
The  depths  of  its  foundations  in  the  heart,  and 
the  subtilty  of  its  nature  in  eluding  investiga 
tions  into  its  causes  and  character,  distinguish  it 
eminently  above  other  principles.  If  you  com 
pare  it,  for  example,  with  the  phenomena  of 
taste,  which  also  appear  to  be  universal,  we  shall 
readily  discern  a  considerable  distinction  with 
drawing  from  the  one  its  transient  resemblance. 
The  judgment  which  determines  a  circle  to  be 
more  beautiful  than  a  square,  or  a  rose  to  be 
fairer  than  a  clod,  is  not  founded  upon  aught 
existing  in  the  mind  independent  of  the  senses, 
but  is  manifestly  derived  from  the  humble  sources 
of  the  material  world.  It  is  nothing  but  a  power 


164  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

to  decide  upon  the  pleasures  of  sense.  If  this  be 
not  the  limit  of  the  province  of  taste,  if  it  ever 
rise  to  the  judgment  of  questions  which  seem  to 
involve  moral  beauty,  it  is  only  where  it  begins 
to  blend  with  the  moral  sense  and  becomes  en 
nobled  by  its  connection.  But  that  sovereign 
sense  whereof  we  speak  leaves  the  material  world 
and  its  subordinate  knowledge  to  subordinate 
faculties,  and  marshals  before  its  divine  tribunal 
the  motives  of  action,  the  secrets  of  character  and 
the  interests  of  the  universe.  It  has  no  taint  of 
mortality  in  the  purity  and  unity  of  its  intelli 
gence  ;  it  is  perfectly  spiritual.  It  sometimes 
seems  to  sanction  that  Platonic  dream,  that  the 
soul  of  the  individual  was  but  an  emanation 
from  the  Abyss  of  Deity,  and  about  to  return 
whence  it  flowed.  So  it  seems  to  predict,  on 
SUPREME  AUTHORITY,  that  fate  which  is  to  be 
declared,  when  Time  shall  cease.  It  seems  to 
be  the  only  human  thought  which  is  admitted 
to  partake  of  the  counsels  of  the  eternal  world, 
and  to  give  note  already  to  man,  of  the  event 
and  the  sentence  to  which  he  is  doomed.  .  .  . 

GOD 

We   have   one  remarkable   evidence  to   the 
character,  from  eternity,  of  that  Being,  in  the  di- 


1  i822]  THE    RIVER  165 

vine  determination  to  make  man  in  the  image  of 
God.  In  all  the  insignificance  and  imperfection 
of  our  nature,  in  the  guilt  to  which  we  are  liable, 
and  the  calamity  which  guilt  has  accumulated, — 
man  triumphs  to  remember  that  he  bears  about 
him  a  spark  which  all  beings  venerate  [and]  ac 
knowledge  to  be  the  emblem  of  God, — which 
may  be  violated,  but  which  cannot  be  extin 
guished.  And  we  remark  with  delight  the  con 
firmations  of  this  belief  in  the  opening  features  of 
human  character.  And  the  little  joy  of  the  child 
who  plants  a  seed  and  sees  himself  instrumental 
in  the  creation  of  a  flower,  forcibly  reminds  us 
of  that  beneficence  which  built  the  heavens  and 
the  earth,  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

THE    RIVER 

Among  the  bulrushes  I  lay 
Which  deck  the  river's  murmuring  tide; 
Upon  those  banks  no  men  abide, 
But  swans  come  sailing  in  their  pride 
And  graceful  float  into  the  quiet  bay. 

Fast  sailed  the  golden  fishes  by, 

And  some  leaped  out  to  see  the  sky, 

Nor  saw  the  bird  that  stooped  from  high 

Until  he  broke  the  wave's  white  crest 

And  bore  the  flapping  fish  aloft  unto  his  nest. 


166  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

An  April  cloud  blew  o'er  the  stream 

And  cast  its  big  drops  down, 

They  oped  the  lily's  covering  brown 

And  shed  its  steaming  perfume  round, 

And  golden  insects  flew  unto  that  flower  supreme. 


DRAMA 

July. 

.  .  .  The  grand  object  of  the  Drama  is  to 
claim  the  affections  by  awakening  .  .  .  sympathy. 
It  represents  an  accumulation  of  human  wo  with 
gorgeous  pomp  to  move  the  pity  and  indignation 
of  a  susceptible  audience.  Its  triumph  is  com 
plete,  when  the  passions  of  the  multitude,  which 
naturally  move  in  unison,  at  last  aid  each  other 
to  some  general  utterance,  and  consent  to  the 
weakness  of  feelings,  which  in  an  individual 
^would  be  ridiculous.  From  the  Theatre,  then, 
drive  out  the  buyers  and  sellers  of  corruption 
who  have  made  it  a  den  of  vice,  and  make  it  an 
Oracle  of  those  opinions  and  sentiments  which 
multiply  and  strengthen  the  bonds  of  society. 

The  more  we  reflect  upon  the  subject,  the  more 
thoroughly  we  shall  be  convinced  how  practi 
cable  it  is  to  produce  a  Theatre  of  an  actively 
useful  character.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
only  vicious  gratification  can  raise  sufficient  ex- 


i822]  REASON  167 

citement  to  draw  men  together  around  a  stage. 
On  the  contrary,  what  an  inextinguishable  thirst 
for  eloquence,  however  rude,  exists  in  every 
breast  !  .  .  . 

It  is  natural  that  we  pant  to  feel  those  thrilling 
sensations  of  a  most  agreeable  character  which 
passionate  and  powerful  declamation  never  fails 
to  move.  They  are  akin  to  the  emotions  pro 
duced  by  the  sublime,  in  sense  or  thought.  And 
for  these,  the  fictitious  distresses  of  exalted  per 
sonages,  amid  the  passage  of  wonderful  events, 
such  as  a  pure  play  will  freely  admit,  seem  to  afford 
every  desirable  facility.  .  .  .  Besides  we  have  di 
rect  testimony  of  the  certainty  of  success,  in  the 
instance  of  the  Greek  Tragedy,  which,  without 
impurity,  was  universally  popular  at  Athens  .  .  '. 


REASON 

Sunday,  September  7. 

[As  for]  that  hoary-headed  error  which  consid 
ers  Reason  as  opposed  to  Scripture,  and  which 
frequently  and  loudly  condemns  Reason  as  an 
adversary  and  a  seducer,  as  unbelieving  and  pro 
fane.  .  .  .  Instead  of  placing  idiots  in  his  uni 
verse,  capable  only  of  sensual  gratification,  able 
only  to  obey  instincts,  and  requiring  every  mo- 


168  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

ment  a  new  direction  from  heaven  to  prevent 
them  from  grovelling  in  the  dirt,  or  being  de 
stroyed  by  the  beasts,  God  has  peopled  it  with 
images  of  himself,  and  kindled  within  them  the 
light  of  his  own  understanding  —  a  portion  of 
that  ray  which  illuminates,  as  it  formed,  the  Crea 
tion.  He  has  communicated  to  them  an  intelli 
gence  by  which  they  are  enabled  to  see  their  way 
in  a  universe  where  other  beings  are  blind;  to 
behold  him,  and  their  relation  to  him  ;  to  read 
and  understand  all  those  communications  which 
in  past  or  future  time  he  is  pleased  to  make ;  it 
is  an  intelligence  by  which  they  find  themselves 
distinguished  from  his  other  creations.  There  are 
about  and  amidst  them  a  thousand  different  pro 
perties;  there  are  hills  and  waters,  trees  and  flow 
ers,  the  living  forms  of  nature  and  the  stars  of  the 
firmament;  —  but  they  are  still  and  brutish  — 
there  is  no  eye  and  voice  within  them  to  detect 
and  declare  the  stupendous  glory  which  sur 
rounds  them  ;  they  lack  that  living  spirit  which 
opens  the  eyes  of  man,  and  without  which  the 
Universe  is  as  if  it  were  not,  and  the  glory  of 
Deity  is  darkness.  It  is  an  intelligence  which  soars 
above  these  charms  of  the  material  world,  and  can 
contemn  them  in  the  comparison  with  the  objects 
which  it  is  capable  of  enjoying.  In  fine,  it  is  an 


i822]  DRAMA  169 

intelligence  which  reveals  to  man  another  con 
dition  of  existence,  and  a  nearer  approach  to  the 
Supreme  Being.  This  intelligence  is  Reason. 

Yet  some  there  are  who  tell  you,  as  if  it  in 
volved  no  inconsistency,  and  certainly  no  sin, 
to  avoid  profaning  the  revelations  of  God  by 
submitting  them  to  the  tribunal  of  man's  rea 
son, — who  seek  to  walk  implicitly  by  a  law  which 
they  do  not  and  will  not  understand,  because  they 
refuse  to  apply  to  its  explanation  that  light  with 
which  their  maker  has  furnished  them.  It  is  not 
only  a  wilful  perversion  and  abuse  of  a  priceless 
gift,  but  it  is  a  most  ungrateful  neglect  of  divine 
mercy,  and  a  neglect  which  incurs  a  tremendous 
responsibility.  .  .  . 

DRAMA  (continued) 

October. 

In  proposing  schemes  of  reformation  in  so 
important  a  matter  as  the  Drama,  one  should 
be  cautious  to  avoid  running  into  systems  too 
visionary  for  popular  understanding.  The  scholar 
in  his  closet  must  beware  lest  his  poetical  imagi 
nations  of  the  beauty  of  Tragedy  lead  him  into 
fields  beyond  the  track  of  common  opinion,  and 
to  render  his  speculations  of  no  use.  Neverthe 
less,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  bold  and  beauti- 


170  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

ful  personification  in  Milton's  Penseroso  is  not 
an  unapt  description  of  the  true  drama:  — 

Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
With  sceptred  pall  come  sweeping  by, 
Presenting  Thebes  and  Pelops'  line 
And  the  tale  of  Troy  divine. 

For  we  wish  that  Tragedy  should  take  advan 
tage  of  that  weakness,  or  perhaps  virtue,  in  our 
nature  which  bears  such  an  idolatrous  love  for 
the  emblems  of  royalty,  and  that  its  moral  les 
sons  should  be  couched  in  the  grand  and  pa 
thetic  fables  which  antiquity  affords.  Owing  to 
the  identity  of  human  character  in  all  ages,  there 
is  as  much  instruction  in  the  tale  of  Troy  as  in 
the  Annals  of  the  French  Revolution.  .  .  . 

There  is  an  embellishment  which  I  would  re 
commend,  though  out  of  place  here.  I  mean  the 
introduction  of  prophecies.  The  author  of  Guy 
Mannering  and  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor  knew 
the  value  of  the  charm  and  has  made  fine  use 
of  the  fascination.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  use 
of  supernatural  machinery  in  fiction. 

ORGAN 

October,  Thursday  Evening. 
When  I  was  a  lad,  said  the  bearded  islander, 
we  had  commonly  a  kind  of  vast  musical  ap- 


i822]        THE    FATAL   ORGAN  171 

paratus  in  the  Pacific  islands  which  must  appear 
as  fabulous  to  you  as  it  proved  fatal  to  us.  On 
the  banks  of  the  rivers  there  were  abundance 
of  siphar  trees,  which  consist  of  vast  trunks  per 
forated  by  a  multitude  of  natural  tubes  without 
having  any  external  verdure.  When  the  roots 
of  these  were  connected  with  the  waters  of  the 
river,  the  water  was  instantly  sucked  up  by  some 
of  the  tubes  and  discharged  again  by  others,  and, 
when  properly  echoed,  the  operation  [was]  at 
tended  by  the  most  beautiful  musical  sounds  in 
the  world.  My  countrymen  built  their  churches 
to  the  Great  Zoa  upon  the  margin  of  the  water 
and  enclosed  a  suitable  number  of  these  trees, 
hoping  to  entertain  the  ears  of  the  god  with  this 
sweet  harmony.  Finding  however  by  experience 
that  the  more  water  the  pipes  drew  the  more  rich 
and  various  were  the  sounds  of  the  Organ,  they 
constructed  a  very  large  temple  with  high  walls 
of  clay  and  stone  to  make  the  echoes  very  com 
plete,  and  enclosed  a  hundred  siphars.  When 
the  edifice  was  complete,  six  thousand  people 
assembled  to  hear  the  long  expected  song.  After 
they  had  waited  a  long  time  and  the  waters  of 
the  river  were  beginning  to  rise,  the  Instrument 
suddenly  began  to  emit  the  finest  notes  imagin 
able.  Through  some  of  the  broader  pipes  the 


172  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

water  rushed  with  the  voice  of  thunder,  and 
through  others  with  the  sweetness  of  one  of 
your  lutes.  In  a  short  time  the  effect  of  the 
music  was  such  that  it  seemed  to  have  made  all 
the  hearers  mad.  They  laughed  and  wept  alter 
nately,  and  began  to  dance,  and  such  was  their 
delight,  that  they  did  not  perceive  the  disaster 
which  had  befallen  their  Organ.  Owing  to  the 
unusual  swell  of  the  River  and  to  some  unac 
countable  irregularity  in  the  ducts,  the  pipes  be 
gan  to  discharge  their  contents  within  the  chapel. 
In  a  short  time  the  evil  became  but  too  appar 
ent,  for  the  water  rose  in  spouts  from  the  top 
of  the  larger  ducts  and  fell  upon  the  multitude 
within.  Meantime  the  music  swelled  louder  and 
louder,  and  every  note  was  more  ravishing  than 
the  last.  The  inconvenience  of  the  falling  water 
which  drenched  them,  was  entirely  forgotten, 
until  finally  the  whole  host  of  pipes  discharged, 
every  one,  a  volume  of  water  upon  the  charmed 
congregation.  The  faster  poured  the  water,  the 
sweeter  grew  the  music,  and  the  floor  being  cov 
ered  with  the  torrent,  the  people  began  to  float 
upon  it  with  intolerable  extacies.  Finally  the 
whole  multitude  swam  about  in  this  deluge,  hold 
ing  up  their  heads  with  open  months  and  ears  as 
if  to  swallow  the  melody,  whereby  they  swallowed 


i*22]        THE    LAND    OF    NOT          173 

much  water.  Many  hundreds  were  immediately 
drowned  and  the  enormous  pipes,  as  they  emp 
tied  the  river,  swelled  their  harmony  to  such  per 
fection  that  the  ear  could  no  longer  bear  it,  and 
they  who  escaped  the  drowning  died  of  the  ex 
quisite  music.  Thenceforward  there  was  no  more 
use  of  the  Siphar  trees  in  the  Pacific  islands. 

THE    LAND    OF    NOT 

...  It  is  now  nineteen  years  since  I  left  the 
Land  of  Not,  and  I  may  safely  say  that,  in  the 
countries  in  which  I  have  passed  my  time  since 
that  period,  it  has  been  invariably  true  that  there 
is  more  crime,  misery  and  vexation  in  every  one 
of  them,  in  the  course  of  a  single  year,  than  tran 
spires  in  the  peaceful  Land  of  Not  in  the  lapse 
of  many  centuries.  Except  for  the  existence  of 
one  single  institution  which  has  been  estab 
lished  from  time  immemorial,  there  is  no  ques 
tion  that  a  vast  tide  of  emigration  would  rapidly 
flow  into  that  country.  This  institution  is  a 
rigorous  Alien  Act  which  ordains  that  no  man 
who  leaves  the  limits  of  the  country  shall  ever 
be  permitted  to  set  foot  within  it  again.  But,  to 
my  knowledge,  many  who  have  left  it  have  often 
afterwards  looked  back  to  its  pleasant  abodes, 
and  desired  in  vain  to  return.  , 


174  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

Saturday  Evening,  November. 
My  adventurous  and  superficial  pen  has  not 
hesitated  to  advance  thus  far  upon  these  old  but 
sublime  foundations  of  our  faith ;  and  thus,  with 
out  adding  a  straw  to  the  weight  of  evidence  or 
making  the  smallest  discovery,  it  has  still  served 
to  elevate  somewhat  my  own  notions  by  bring 
ing  me  within  prospect  of  the  labours  of  the 
sages.  After  the  primitive  apostles,  I  apprehend 
that  Christianity  is  indebted  to  those  who  have 
established  the  grounds  upon  which  it  rests;  to 
Clarke,  Butler,  and  Paley ;  to  Sherlock,  and  to 
the  incomparable  Newton.  And  when  it  shall 
please  my  wayward  Imagination  to  suffer  me  to 
go  drink  of  these  chrystal  fountains ;  or  when 
my  better  judgment  shall  have  at  last  triumphed 
over  the  daemon  Imagination,  and  shall  itself 
conduct  me  thither, —  I  shall  be  proud  and  glad 
of  the  privilege.  For  the  present,  I  must  be  con 
tent  to  make  myself  wiser  as  I  may,  by  the  same 
loose  speculations  upon  divine  themes.  .  . 

CONCLUSION 

I  have  come  to  the  close  of  the  sheets  which 
I  dedicated  to  the  Genius  of  America,  and  no 
tice  that  I  have  devoted  nothing  in  my  book  to 
any  peculiar  topics  which  concern  my  country. 


i822]  WEBSTER  175 

But  is  not  every  effort  that  her  sons  make  to 
advance  the  intellectual  interests  of  the  world, 
and  every  new  thought  which  is  struck  out  from 
the  mines  of  religion  and  morality,  a  forward 
step  in  the  path  of  her  greatness  ?  Peace  be 
with  her  progressive  greatness,  —  and  prosperity 
crown  her  giant  minds.  A  victory  is  achieved  to 
day  for  one,1  whose  name  perchance  is  written 
highest  in  the  volume  of  futurity. 

I  Webster  was   chosen    representative  to   Congress  by  a 
majority  of  1078  votes  this  morning.     (R.  W.  E.) 

BOSTON,  November  4,  1822. 


JOURNAL   IX 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.   8 

DEDICATION 

BOSTON,  November  6,  1822. 

To  glory  which  is  departed,  to  majesty  which 
hath  ceased,  to  intellect  which  is  quenched —  I 
bring  no  homage, —  no,  not  a  grain  of  gold.  For 
why  seek  to  contradict  the  voice  of  Nature  and 
of  God,  which  saith  over  them,  "It  is  finished," 
by  wasting  our  imaginations  upon  the  deaf  ear 
of  the  dead?  Turn  rather  to  the  mighty  multi 
tude,  the  thunder  of  whose  footsteps  shakes  now 
the  earth ;  whose  faces  are  flushed  by  the  blood 
of  life;  whose  eye  is  enlightened  by  a  living  soul. 
Is  there  none  in  this  countless  assembly  who 
hath  a  claim  on  the  reverence  of  the  sons  of 
Minerva? 

I  have  chosen  one  from  the  throng.  Upon 
his  brow  have  the  Muses  hung  no  garland.  His 
name  hath  never  been  named  in  the  halls  of 
fashion,  or  the  palaces  of  state ;  but  I  saw  Pro 
phecy  drop  the  knee  before  him,  and  I  hastened 
to  pay  the  tribute  of  a  page. 


i822]       VISION    OF   SLAVERY  177 

VISION  OF   SLAVERY1 

In  my  dreams  I  departed  to  distant  climes  and 
to  different  periods,  and  my  fancy  presented 
before  me  many  extraordinary  societies,  and 
many  old  and  curious  institutions.  I  sat  on  the 
margin  of  the  River  of  Golden  Sands  when  the 
thirsty  leopard  came  thither  to  drink.  It  was 
just  dawn  and  the  shades  were  chased  rapidly  from 
the  Eastern  firmament  by  the  golden  magnifi 
cence  of  day.  As  I  contemplated  the  brilliant 
spectacle  of  an  African  morning  I  thought  on 

i  The  slave-trade  was  abolished  by  law  in  the  United 
States  in  1808,  but  was  unlawfully  continued  until  the  Civil 
War.  Massachusetts  had  no  slaves  in  1770,  but  they  were 
legally  held  in  New  York,  Rhode  Island  and  Connecticut  at 
the  time  this  journal  was  written. 

The  question  had  just  come  to  the  front  in  the  fruitless  oppo 
sition  to  the  admission  of  Missouri  as  a  slave-state. 

The  Abolition  Movement  was  not  begun  by  William  Lloyd 
Garrison  until  1831. 

Emerson's  effort  always  to  consider  the  object  temperately 
and  fairly  appears  twenty-two  years  later  in  his  speech  on  the 
Anniversary  of  Emancipation  in  the  British  West  Indies  ;  and 
later,  even  during  the  great  conflict,  in  his  proposal  to  compen 
sate  the  Southerners  for  their  loss. 

Of  his  presentation  of  the  apologies  for  Slavery  in  this  jour 
nal  it  should  be  said  that  he  had  had  an  agreeable  and  well-bred 
Southerner  for  his  chum,  and  so  heard  their  point  of  view. 


178  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

those  sages  of  this  storied  land  who  instructed  the 
infancy  of  the  world.  M  eanwhile  the  sun  arose  and 
cast  a  full  light  over  a  vast  and  remarkable  land 
scape.  About  the  river,  the  country  was  green  and 
its  bed  reflected  the  sunbeams  from  pebbles  and 
gold.  Far  around  was  an  ample  plain  with  a  soil 
of  yellow  sand,  glittering  everywhere  with  dew 
and  interspersed  with  portions  of  forest,  which 
extended  into  the  plain  from  the  mountains 
which  surrounded  this  wide  Amphitheatre.  The 
distant  roar  of  lions  ceased  to  be  heard,  and  I 
saw  the  leopard  bathing  his  spotted  limbs  and 
swimming  towards  the  woods  which  skirted  the 
water.  But  his  course  was  stopped ;  an  arrow  from 
the  wood  pierced  his  head,  and  he  floated  lifeless 
ashore.  I  looked  then  to  see  whence  the  slayer 
should  have  come,  and  beheld  not  far  off  a  little 
village  of  huts  built  of  canes.  Presently  I  saw  a 
band  of  families  come  out  from  their  habitations; 
and  these  naked  men,  women  and  children  sung 
a  hymn  to  the  sun,  and  came  merrily  down  to 
the  river  with  nets  in  their  hands  to  fish.  And 
a  crimson  bird  with  a  yellow  crest  flew  over  their 
heads  as  they  went,  and  lighted  on  a  rock  in  the 
midst  of  the  river  and  sung  pleasantly  to  the  sav 
ages  while  he  brushed  his  feathers  in  the  stream. 
The  boys  plunged  into  the  river  and  swam 


1822]        VISION    OF    SLAVERY          179 

towards  the  rock.  But  upon  a  sudden  I  saw 
many  men  dressed  in  foreign  garb  run  out  from 
the  wood  where  the  leopard  had  been  killed; 
and  these  surrounded  the  fishers,  and  bound  them 
with  cords,  and  hastily  carried  them  to  their 
boats,  which  lay  concealed  behind  the  trees.  So 
they  sailed  down  the  stream,  talking  aloud  and 
laughing  as  they  went ;  but  they  that  were  bound 
gnashed  their  teeth  and  uttered  so  piteous  a  howl  s 
that  I  thought  it  were  a  mercy  if  the  river  had 
swallowed  them. 

In  my  dream,  I  launched  my  skiff  to  follow 
the  boats  and  redeem  the  captives.  They  went 
in  ships  to  other  lands  and  I  could  never  reach 
them,  albeit  I  came  near  enough  to  hear  the 
piercing  cry  of  the  chained  victims,  which  was 
louder  than  the  noise  of  the  Ocean.  In  the 
nations  to  which  they  were  brought  they  were 
sold  for  a  price,  and  compelled  to  labour  all  the 
day  long,  and  scourged  with  whips  until  they 
fell  dead  in  the  fields,  and  found  rest  in  the 
grave. 

Canst  thou  ponder  the  vision,  and  shew  why 
Providence  suffers  the  land  of  its  richest  pro 
ductions  to  be  thus  defiled  ?  Do  human  bodies 
lodge  immortal  souls, — and  is  this  tortured  life 
of  bondage  and  tears  a  fit  education  for  the 


i8o  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

bright  ages  of  heaven  and  the  commerce  of 
angels  ?  Is  man  the  Image  of  his  Maker,  —  and 
shall  this  fettered  and  broken  frame,  this  marred 
and  brutalized  soul  become  perfect  as  He  is 
perfect  ?  This  slave  hath  eat  the  bread  of  cap 
tivity  and  drank  the  waters  of  bitterness,  and 
cursed  the  light  of  the  sun  as  it  dawned  on  his 
bed  of  straw,  and  worked  hard  and  suffered 
long,  while  never  an  idea  of  God  hath  kindled 
in  his  mind  from  the  hour  of  his  birth  to  the 
hour  of  his  death  ;  and  yet  thou  sayest  that  a 
merciful  Lord  made  man  in  his  benevolence  to 
live  and  enjoy,  to  take  pleasure  in  his  works 
and  worship  him  forever.  Confess  that  there  are 
secrets  in  that  Providence  which  no  human  eye 
can  penetrate,  which  darken  the  prospect  of 
Faith,  and  teach  us  the  weakness  of  our  Phi 
losophy. 

November  8. 

At  least  we  may  look  farther  than  to  the 
simple  fact  and  perhaps  aid  our  faith  by  freer 
speculation.  I  believe  that  nobody  now  regards 
the  maxim  "  that  all  men  are  born  equal,"  as 
any  thing  more  than  a  convenient  hypothesis 
or  an  extravagant  declamation.  For  the  reverse 
is  true,  —  that  all  men  are  born  unequal  in  per 
sonal  powers,  and  in  those  essential  circum- 


i8zz]  SLAVERY  181 

stances,  of  time,  parentage,  country,  fortune. 
The  least  knowledge  of  the  natural  history  of 
man  adds  another  important  particular  to  these; 
namely,  what  class  of  men  he  belongs  to  — 
European,  Moor,  Tartar,  African  ?  Because 
Nature  has  plainly  assigned  different  degrees  of 
intellect  to  these  different  races,  and  the  barriers 
between  are  insurmountable. 

This  inequality  is  an  indication  of  the  design 
of  Providence  that  some  should  lead,  and  some 
should  serve.  For  when  an  effect  invariably 
takes  place  from  causes  which  Heaven  estab 
lished,  we  surely  say  with  safety,  that  Provi 
dence  designed  that  result. 

Throughout  society  there  is  therefore  not  only 
the  direct  and  acknowledged  relation  of  king 
and  subject,  master  and  servant,  but  a  secret 
dependence  quite  as  universal,  of  one  man 
upon  another,  which  sways  habits,  opinions, 
conduct.  This  prevails  to  an  infinite  extent  and, 
however  humbling  the  analogy,  it  is  neverthe 
less  true,  that  the  same  pleasure  and  confidence 
which  the  dog  and  horse  feel  when  they  rely 
upon  the  superior  intelligence  of  man,  is  felt  by 
the  lower  parts  of  our  own  species  with  refer 
ence  to  the  higher. 

Now,  with  these  concessions,  the  question 


182  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

comes  to  this :  whether  this  known  and  admitted 
assumption  of  power  by  one  part  of  mankind  over 
the  other,  can  ever  be  pushed  to  the  extent  of 
total  possession,  and  that  without  the  will  of  the 
slave  ? 

It  can  hardly  be  said  that  the  whole  difference 
of  the  ^///divides  the  natural  servitude  of  which 
we  have  spoken  from  the  forced  servitude  of 
"shivery."  For  it  is  not  voluntary,  on  my  part, 
that  I  am  born  a  subject;  contrariwise,  if  my  opin 
ion  had  been  consulted,  it  is  ten  to  one  I  should 
have  been  the  Great  Mogul.  The  circumstances 
in  which  every  man  finds  himself  he  owes  to  for 
tune  and  not  to  himself.  And  those  men  who 
happen  to  be  born  in  the  lowest  caste  in  India, 
suffer  much  more  perhaps  than  the  kidnapped 
African,  with  no  other  difference  in  their  lot  than 
this,  that  God  made  the  one  wretched,  and  man, 
the  other.  Except  that  there  is  a  dignity  in  suf 
fering  from  the  ordinances  of  Supreme  Power  — 
which  is  not  at  all  common  to  the  other  class  — 
one  lot  is  as  little  enviable  as  the  other. 

When  all  this  is  admitted,  the  question  may 
still  remain  entirely  independent  and  untouched 
— apart  from  the  consideration  of  slavery  as  agree 
able  or  contradictory  to  the  analogies  of  nature  — 
whether  any  individual  has  a  right  to  deprive  any 


1 822]  SLAVERY  183 

other  individual  of  freedom  without  his  consent; 
or  whether  he  may  continue  to  withhold  the  free 
dom  which  another  hath  taken  away  ? 

Upon  the  first  question, —  whether  one  man 
may  forcibly  takeaway  the  freedom  of  another, — 
the  weakness  and  incapacity  of  Africans  would 
seem  to  have  no  bearing ;  though  it  may  affect  the 
second.  Still  it  may  be  advanced  that  the  beasts 
of  the  field  are  all  evidently  subjected  to  the  do 
minion  of  man,  and,  with  the  single  restriction  of 
the  laws  of  humanity,  are  left  entirely  at  his  will. 
And  why  are  they,  and  how  do  we  acquire  this 
declaration  of  heaven?  Manifestly  from  a  view  of 
the  perfect  adaptation  of  these  animals  to  the  ne 
cessities  of  man,  and  of  the  advantage  which  many 
of  them  find  in  leaving  the  forest  for  the  barnyard. 
If  they  had  reason,  their  strength  would  be  so  far 
superior  to  ours,  that,  besides  our  inability  to  use 
them,  it  would  be  inconsistent  with  nature.  So 
that  these  three  circumstances  are  the  foundation 
of  our  dominion;  viz.  their  want  of  reason  ;  their 
adaptation  to  our  wants  ;  and  their  own  advan 
tage  (when  domesticated).  But  these  three  cir 
cumstances  may  very  well  apply  to  the  condition 
of  the  Blacks,  and  it  may  be  hard  to  tell  exactly 
where  the  difference  lies.  Is  it  in  Reason  ?  If  we 
speak  in  general  of  the  two  classes,  Man  and 


1 84  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

Beast,  we  say  that  they  are  separated  by  the  dis 
tinction  of  Reason,  and  the  want  of  it;  and  the 
line  of  this  distinction  is  very  broad.  But  if  we 
abandon  this  generalization,  and  compare  the 
classes  of  one  with  the  classes  of  the  other,  we 
shall  find  our  boundary  line  growing  narrower 
and  narrower,  and  individuals  of  one  species 
approaching  individuals  of  the  other,  until  the 
limits  become  finally  lost  in  the  mingling  of  the 
classes.  .  .  . 

November  14. 

If  we  pursue  a  revolting  subject  to  its  great 
est  lengths,  we  should  find  that  in  all  those  three 
circumstances  which  are  the  foundations  of  our 
dominion  over  the  beasts,  very  much  may  be 
said  to  apply  them  to  the  African  species ;  even 
in  the  last,  viz.,  the  advantage  which  they  derive 
from  our  care  ;  for  the  slaveholders  violently  as 
sert  that  their  slaves  are  happier  than  the  freed- 
men  of  their  class;  and  the  slaves  refuse  often 
times  the  offer  of  their  freedom.  Nor  is  this 
owing  merely  to  the  barbarity  which  has  placed 
them  out  of  the  power  of  attaining  a  competence 
by  themselves.  For  it  is  true  that  many  a  slave 
under  the  warm  roof  of  a  humane  master,  with 
easy  labours  and  regular  subsistence,  enjoys 
more  happiness  than  his  naked  brethren,  parched 


i822]  SLAVERY  185 

with  thirst  on  a  burning  sand,  or  endangered  in 
the  crying  wilderness  of  their  native  land. 

This  is  all  that  is  offered  in  behalf  of  slavery ; 
we  shall  next  attempt  to  knock  down  the  hydra. 

To  establish,  by  whatever  specious  argumen 
tation,  the  perfect  expediency  of  the  worst  insti 
tution  on  earth  is  prima  facie  an  assault  upon 
Reason  and  Common  Sense.  No  ingenious  soph 
istry  can  ever  reconcile  the  unperverted  mind  to 
the  pardon  of  slavery  ;  nothing  but  tremendous  ^ 
familiarity,  and  the  bias  of  private  interest.  Un-  y 
der  the  influence  of  better  arguments  than  can 
be  offered  in  support  of  slavery  we  should  sus 
tain  our  tranquillity  by  the  confidence  that  no 
surrender  of  our  opinion  is  ever  demanded,  and 
that  we  are  only  required  to  discover  the  lurk 
ing  fallacy  which  the  disputant  acknowledges  to 
exist.  It  is  an  old  dispute,  which  is  not  now 
and  never  will  be  totally  at  rest,  whether  the  hu 
man  mind  be  or  be  not  a  free  agent.  And  the  as- 
serter  of  either  side  must  be  scandalized  by  the 
bare  naming  of  the  theory  that  man  may  impose 
servitude  on  his  brother.  For  if  he  is  himself 
free,  and  it  offends  the  attributes  of  God  to  have 
him  otherwise,  it  is  manifestly  a  bold  stroke  of 
impiety  to  wrest  the  same  liberty  from  his  fellow. 
And  if  he  is  not  free,  then  this  inhuman  barbar- 


186  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

ity  ascends  to  derive  its  origin  from  the  author 
of  all  necessity. 

A  creature  who  is  bound  by  his  hopes  of  sal 
vation  to  imitate  the  benevolence  of  better  be 
ings,  and  to  do  all  the  kindness  in  his  power, 
fastens  manacles  on  his  fellow  with  an  ill  grace. 
A  creature  who  holds  a  little  lease  of  life  upon 
the  arbitrary  tenure  of  God's  good  pleasure  im 
proves  his  moment  strangely  by  abusing  God's 
best  works,  his  own  peers. 

MORAL  LAW 

Saturday  Evening,  November  16. 
The  child  who  refuses  to  pollute  its  little  lips 
with  a  lie,  and  the  archangel  who  refuses  with 
indignation  to  rebel  in  the  armies  of  heaven 
against  the  Most  High,  act  alike  in  obedience 
to  a  law  which  pervades  all  intelligent  beings. 
This  law  is  the  Moral  Sense;  a  rule  coextensive 
and  coeval  with  Mind.  It  derives  its  existence 
from  the  eternal  character  of  the  Deity,  of  which 
we  spoke  above ;  and  seems  of  itself  to  imply,  and 
therefore  to  prove  his  Existence.  .  .  .  Whence 
comes  this  strong  universal  feeling  that  approves 
or  abhors  actions?  Manifestly  not  from  matter, 
which  is  altogether  unmoved  by  it,  and  the  con- 


1822]  MORAL   LAW  187 

nection  of  which  with  it  is  a  thing  absurd — 
but  from  a  Mind,  of  which  it  is  the  essence.  V 
That  Mind  is  God. 

This  Sentiment  which  we  bear  within  us,  is  so 
subtle  and  unearthly  in  its  nature,  so  entirely 
distinct  from  all  sense  and  matter,  and  hence  so 
difficult  to  be  examined,  and  withal  so  decisive 
and  invariable  in  its  dictates  —  that  it  clearly 
partakes  of  another  world  than  this,  and  looks 
forward  to  it  in  the  end.  It  is  further  to  be  ob 
served  of  it,  that  its  dictates  are  never  blind,  are 
never  capricious,  but,  however  they  may  seem  to 
differ,  are  always  discovered  on  a  close  and  pro 
found  examination  to  point  to  a  faultless  and 
unattainable  perfection.  They  seem  to  refer  to 
a  sublime  course  of  life  and  action  which  no 
where  exists,  or  to  which^  we  are  not  privy ;  and 
to  be  an  index  of  the  Creator's  character  lent 
to  mankind  in  vindication  or  illustration  of  the 
command,  "  Be  ye  perfect  as  He  is  perfect." 

This  Sentiment  differs  from  the  affections  of 
the  heart  and  from  the  faculties  of  the  mind. 
The  affections  are  undiscriminating  and  capri 
cious.  The  Moral  Sense  is  not.  The  powers  of 
the  intellect  are  sometimes  wakeful  and  some 
times  dull,  alive  with  interest  to  one  subject  and 
dead  to  the  charm  of  another.  There  are  no  ebbs 


188  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

and  flows,  no  change,  no  contradiction  in  this. 
Its  lively  approbation  never  loses  its  pleasure ; 
its  aversion  never  loses  its  sting.  Its  oracular 
answers  might  be  sounded  through  the  world, 
for  they  are  always  the  same.  Motives  and 
characters  are  amenable  to  it ;  and  the  golden 
rules  which  are  the  foundation  of  its  judgments 
we  feel  and  acknowledge,  but  do  not  under 
stand.  .  .  . 

JUSTICE 

"Even  handed  Justice 

Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poisoned  chalice 
To  our  own  lips." 

The  bold  misdoer  who  transgresses  the  law 
of  Justice  grapples  with  he  knows  not  what. 
He  has  offended  against  an  essential  attribute  of 
the  Divinity,  which  will  plead  against  him  in 
exorably  until  it  be  avenged.  His  rash  hand  has 
disordered  a  part  of  the  moral  machinery  of  the 
Universe  and  he  is  in  peril  of  being  crushed  by 
the  mischief  he  has  caused. 

.  .  .  How  shall  man  reconcile  his  freedom 
with  that  eternal  necessary  chain  of  cause  and 
consequence  which  binds  him  and  Nature  down 
to  an  irreversible  decree?  How  shall  he  recon 
cile  his  freedom  with  that  prophetic  omniscience 
which  beheld  his  end  long  before  the  infant  en- 


i822]  JUSTICE  189 

tered  on  the  world  ?  Perhaps  he  is  a  slave  — 
and  men  have  worn  his  limbs  with  irons,  and  his 
soul  with  suffering;  the  name  of  virtue  and  the 
smile  of  kindness  never  have  stooped  to  alleviate 
his  hard  and  bitter  bondage  ;  but  ere  his  little 
day  of  apathy  and  distress  was  done,  he  cursed 
God  and  died;  —  hath  he  descended  into  hell? 
Or  how  dost  thou  reconcile  the  creation  and 
destiny  of  this  being  with  that  Infinite  and  be 
nevolent  Justice  that  would  not  abuse  its  Om 
nipotence,  and  would  not  create  a  mind  to  be 
miserable? 

Tell  not  that  man  of  those  feelings  and 
thoughts  which  give  a  joy  to  your  existence  and 
warm  your  heart  to  the  world ;  for  it  will  be  but 
to  mock  his  wretchedness.  Tell  him  not  of 
the  dignity  of  human  nature,  of  its  benevolence 
and  philanthropy , —  he  will  clank  his  chains  at 
the  word.  He  scoffs  bitterly  at  your  pictures  of 
the  golden  gates  of  Heaven,  for  they  are  closed 
on  him. 

The  man  is  bold  who  undertakes  to  answer 
beyond  a  doubt  these  perplexing  questions.  But 
theology  would  be  a  vain  science,  unworthy  of 
our  attention,  if  it  left  them  all  in  their  full  force, 
without  notice  or  solution. 

If  an  ignorant  man  were  carried  from  his  closet 


190  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

to  the  prisons  and  penitentiaries  of  a  vast  king 
dom  and  shewn  a  multitude  of  men  confined  and 
scourged  and  forced  to  labour,  and  informed  that 
this  was  the  act  of  the  government,  if  he  knew 
nothing  more  of  that  state  and  perhaps  foolishly 
conceived  that  its  limits  extended  no  further  than 
the  walls  wherein  he  stood,  it  would  be  a  very 
plain  conclusion  that  this  government  was  a 
savage  and  outrageous  tyranny;  while  perhaps 
at  that  very  moment  the  government  was  the 
most  perfect  and  beneficent  in  the  world.  Our 
rash  conclusions  from  the  dark  side  of  human 
affairs  are  analogous  to  these,  and  like  these  are 
to  be  corrected  by  broader  views  of  the  system 
which  we  misunderstand. 

The  questions  we  have  named,  are  incidental 
to  the  subject,  but  of  such  importance,  that  we 
shall  digress  from  the  main  topic  to  attempt  to 
answer  them.  The  endeavour  is  always  laudable 
to  clear  up  the  darkness  which  settles  around 
portions  of  the  system.  God  in  heaven  is  an 
swerable  for  his  works,  to  those  principles  which 
he  hath  set  within  us  to  judge  of  them.  To  the 
discussion  of  some  of  them,  our  nature  is  in 
competent.1 

I  The  young  man  confesses  this  inability  to  satisfactorily 
account  for  all  misery  when  he  considers  it  under  the  two  dis- 


1822]  BENEVOLENCE  191 

One  of  the  best  satires  upon  women  is  the 
popular  opinion  of  the  third  century,  that  they 
who  took  wives  were  of  all  others  the  most  sub 
ject  to  the  influence  of  evil  demons.  .  .  .  Men's 
minds  visit  heaven  as  they  visit  earth,  and  hence 
the  Turkish  heaven  is  a  Harem ;  the  Scandina 
vian,  a  hunting  field  ;  the  Arabian,  a  place  of 
wheaten  cakes  and  murmuring  fountains.  We  Ve 
supple  understandings  and  so  it  comes  that  a  new 
religion  ever  suits  itself  to  the  state  in  which  'tis 
born,  whether  despotism  or  democracy,  as  Mon 
tesquieu  has  remarked. 

Four  daughters  make  the  family  of  Time, 
But  rosy  Summer  is  the  darling  child. 

BENEVOLENCE 

Saturday  Evening,  November  23. 
The  hours  of  social  intercourse,  of  gratified 
hope,  of  the  festive  board,  have  just  now  yielded 
to  quieter  pleasures  of  the  closet  and  the  pen. 
This  tender  flesh  is  warmly  clad,  the  blood  leaps 
in  the  vessels  of  life,  Health  and  Hope  write 
their  results  on  the  passing  moment, — and  these 

cussions  of  Benevolence  a  few  pages  farther  on.   In  the  latter  of 
these  his  favourite  doctrine  of  Compensation  appears. 


192  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

things  make  the  pleasure  of  a  mortal,  bodily, 
mental  being.  There  are  in  the  world  at  this 
moment  one  hundred  million  men  whose  history 
today  may  match  with  mine,  not  counting  the 
numberless  ones  whose  day  was  happier.  There 
are  also  in  existence  here  a  countless  crowd  of 
inferior  animals  who  have  had  their  lesser  cup 
filled  full  with  pleasure.  The  sunny  lakes  reflect 
the  noonday  beams  from  the  glittering  tribes 
which  cover  its  bottom,  rapid  as  thought  in  their 
buoyant  motions,  leaping  with  the  elasticity  and 
gladness  of  life.  The  boundless  Ocean  supports 
in  its  noisy  waves  its  own  great  population,  — 
the  beautiful  dolphin,  the  enormous  whale,  and 
huge  sea-monsters  of  a  thousand  families  and 
a  thousand  uncouth  gambols  dash  through  its 
mighty  domain  in  the  fulness  of  sensual  enjoy 
ment.  The  air  is  fanned  by  innumerable  wings, 
the  green  woods  are  vocal  with  the  song  of  the 
insect  and  the  bird ;  the  beasts  of  the  field  fill 
all  the  lands  untenanted  by  man,  and  beneath 
the  sod  the  mole  and  the  worm  take  their  plea 
sure.  All  this  vast  mass  of  animated  matter  is 
moving  and  basking  under  the  broad  orb  of  the 
sun, —  is  drinking  in  the  sweetness  of  the  air,  is 
feeding  on  the  fruits  of  nature,  —  is  pleased  with 
life,  and  loth  to  lose  it.  All  this  pleasure  flows 


1822]       GOD'S   BENEVOLENCE         193 

from  a  source.  That  source  is  the  Benevolence 
of  God. 

This  is  the  first  superficial  glance  at  the  econ 
omy  of  the  world  and  necessarily  leaves  out  a 
thousand  circumstances.  Let  us  take  a  closer 
view,  and  begin  with  the  human  mind.  I  find 
within  me  a  motley  array  of  feelings  that  have 
no  connection  with  my  clayey  frame,  and  I  call 
them  my  mind.  Every  day  of  my  life,  this  mind 
draws  a  thousand  curious  conclusions  from  the 
different  things  which  it  beholds.  With  a  wanton 
variety  which  tires  of  sameness,  it  throws  all  its 
thoughts  into  innumerable  lights,  and  changes 
the  fantastic  scene  by  varying  its  own  operations 
upon  it ;  by  combining  and  separating,  by  com 
paring  and  judging,  by  remembering  and  invent 
ing  all  things.  Every  one  of  these  little  changes 
within,  produces  a  pleasure,  the  pleasure  of  power 
or  of  sight.  But  besides  the  mere  fact  that  the 
mind  acts,  there  is  a  most  rich  variety  in  thought, 
and  I  grossly  undervalue  the  gift  I  possess,  if  I 
limit  its  capacity  to  the  puny  round  of  every 
day's  sensations.  It  is  a  ticket  of  admission  to  an 
other  world  of  ineffable  grandeur — to  unknown 
orders  of  things  which  are  as  real  as  they  are 
stupendous.  As  soon  as  it  has  advanced  a  little 
in  life  it  opens  its  eye  to  thoughts  which  tax  its 


194  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

whole  power,  and  delight  it  by  their  greatness 
and  novelty.  These  suggest  kindred  concep 
tions,  which  give  birth  to  others,  and  thus  draw 
the  mind  on  in  a  path  which  it  perceives  is  in 
terminable,  and  is  of  interminable  joy.  To  this 
high  favoured  intellect  is  added  an  intuition  that 
it  can  never  end,  and  that  with  its  choice  it  can 
go  forward  to  take  the  boon  of  immortal  Hap 
piness.  These  are  causes  and  states  of  pleasure 
which  no  reason  can  deny.  But  this  is  the  true 
history  of  all  the  individuals  of  the  mighty  na 
tions  that  breathe  today.  These  point  also  to  a 
source  —  which  is  the  Benevolence  of  God. 

But  a  groan  of  the  dying,  a  cry  of  torture  from 
the  diseased,  the  sob  of  the  mourner,  answer  to 
this  thanksgiving  of  human  nature  and  produce 
a  discord  in  our  anthem  of  praise.  If  God  is  good, 
why  are  any  of  his  creatures  unhappy  ?  .  .  . 

Those  who  consider  the  foundations  of  hu 
man  happiness  find  that  it  is  a  contrasted  and 
comparative  thing.  .  .  .  High  and  multiplied 
sources  of  pleasure  are  often  in  our  possession, 
without  being  enjoyed,  for  they  never  were  lack 
ing  ;  God  disturbs  or  removes  them  for  a  time ; 
and  he  is  dull,  who  sees  no  wisdom  in  this  mode 
of  giving  them  value  and  sharpening  the  blunted 
edge  of  appetite.  Thus  Health  and  Peace  are 


i82z]        PROFESSOR    NORTON          195 

insipid  goods,  until  you  have  been  able  to  com 
pare  them  with  the  torments  of  Pain  and  the 
visitation  of  War.  And  after  this  comparison 
has  once  been  made,  man  runs  riot  in  holding 
them. 

Next,  it  should  be  remembered  that  we  wisely 
assume  the  righteousness  of  the  Creator  in  plac 
ing  man  in  a  probationary  state.  We  do  not  seek 
with  vain  ambition  to  question  the  abstruse  and 
unsearchable  ground  of  this  ordination,  because 
it  is  plain  matter  of  fact  that  we  are  incompetent 
to  the  discussion.  This  being  assumed,  there 
is  no  longer  any  doubt  of  the  Divine  Benevo 
lence  arising  from  the  existence  of  evil.  Evil  is 
the  rough  and  stony  foundation  of  human  Vir 
tue  ;  weaning  man  away  from  the  seductive  dan 
gers  of  vicious,  transient,  destructive  pleasures 
to  a  hold  and  security  of  Paradise  where  they 
are  perpetual  and  perfect. 

Of  Professor  N.,  Shakespeare  long  ago  wrote 
the  good  and  bad  character  : 

Oh  it  is  excellent 

To  have  a  giant's  strength,  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant.1 

I  Evidently  Andrews  Norton,  Professor  of  Sacred  Litera 
ture.  Mr.  Cabot,  in  his  Memoirs  of  Emerson  (p.  334),  speaks 


196  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

[SOLITARY  FANCIES] 

Rich  in  the  playful  joys  of  solitude 

The  peaceful  Muse  begins  her  jubilee 

When  Night's  black  car,  sprinkled  with  golden  stars, 

Has  chased  the  Sun's  magnificence  away. 

Pleased  with  the  closet's  motley  furniture, 

And  broken  shadows,  where  the  elves  and  gnomes 

Fight  with  the  rats  for  noise  or  victory, 

The  Muse  roves  boldly  on  her  vagrant  wing, 

Disdains  the  recent  times  and  days  of  dwarfs, 

And  this  cold  land  Apollo  never  knew  ; 

Abandons  with  proud  plumes  the  passing  hour, 

And  follows  Fancy  through  a  thousand  worlds. 

It  is  a  curious  spectacle,  to  see 

The  panorama  of  unnumbered  hues 

That  her  wild  journey  marshals  round  her  eye. 

But  icy  Reason  scowls  upon  the  shew, — 

And  its  gay  battlements  and  beaming  towers 

And  shining  forms  all  vanish  at  his  frown. 

Yet  I,  who  never  bowed  obedient  neck 

To  Reason's  iron  yoke,  will  still  rebel 

And  vex  the  tyrant  in  his  ancient  halls. 

I  '11  ponder  pleasantly  the  changing  scenes 

And  tell  their  wonders  loudly  on  the  lyre. 

of  him  as  "  a  man  of  acute  intellect  and  commanding  personality 
and,  I  suppose,  the  foremost  theologian  of  the  liberal  Chris 
tians."  Sixteen  years  later,  Emerson,  after  the  delivery  of  his 
Divinity  School  Address,  felt  the  weight  of  this  giant's  attack. 


i822]      THE    FRIEND    DENIED        197 

November  29,  1822. 

The  ardour  of  my  college  friendship  for 

is  nearly  extinct,  and  it  is  with  difficulty  that  I 
can  now  recall  those  sensations  of  vivid  pleasure 
which  his  presence  was  wont  to  waken  spontane 
ously  for  a  period  of  more  than  two  years.  To 
be  so  agreeably  excited  by  the  features  of  an  in 
dividual  personally  unknown  to  me,  and  for  so 
long  a  time,  was  surely  a  curious  incident  in  the 
history  of  so  cold  a  being,  and  well  worth  a  second 
thought.  At  the  very  beginning  of  our  singular 
acquaintance,  I  noticed  the  circumstance  in  my 
Wide  World,  with  an  expression  of  curiosity  with 
regard  to  the  effect  which  time  would  have  upon 
those  feelings.  To  this  day,  our  glance  at  meeting 
is  not  that  of  indifferent  persons,  and  were  he  not 
so  thoroughly  buried  in  his  martial  cares,  I  might 
still  entertain  the  hope  of  departed  hours.  Prob 
ably  the  abatement  of  my  solitary  enthusiasm  is 
owing  to  the  discouraging  reports  which  I  have 
gathered  of  his  pursuits  and  character,  so  entirely 
inconsistent  with  the  indications  of  his  face.  But 
it  were  much  better  that  our  connexion  should 
stop,  and  pass  off,  as  it  now  will,  than  to  have 
had  it  formed,  and  then  broken  by  the  late  dis 
covery  of  insurmountable  barriers  to  friendship. 
From  the  first,  I  preferred  to  preserve  the  terms 


198  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

which  kept  alive  so  much  sentiment  rather  than 
a  more  familiar  intercourse  which  I  feared  would 
end  in  indifference. 

BENEVOLENCE  (continued) 
Saturday  Evening,  November  30. 
Heraclitus  was  a  fool,  who  wept  always  for  the 
miseries  of  human  life.  Or  was  he  blind  and  deaf 
to  beauty  and  melody?  In  his  day,  was  the  sky 
black,  and  were  snakes  instead  of  flowers  coiled 
in  his  path  ?  Was  his  mind  reversed  in  its  organ 
ization; —  had  he  Despair  for  Hope,  and  Remorse 
for  Memory?  Could  his  disordered  eye  discern 
a  savage  Power  sitting  in  this  Splendid  Universe, 
thwarting  the  good  chances  of  Fortune  and  pro 
moting  the  bad^  sowing  seeds  of  sorrow  for  glory, 
turning  grace  and  tranquillity  to  desolation,  and 
heaven  to  hell?  Then  let  him  weep  on.  True  phi 
losophy  hath  a  clearer  sight,  and  remarks  amid 
the  vast  disproportions  of  human  condition  agreat 
equalization  of  happiness;  an  intimate  intermin 
gling  of  pleasure  with  every  gradation,  down  to 
the  very  lowest  of  all.  Pleasant  and  joyous  are 
the  connexions  of  our  sympathy  and  affection  — 
'tis  proved  by  the  very  tear  which  marks  their 
dissolution ;  and  even  that  pang  of  separation  and 
loss  is  relieved  by  its  own  indulgence.  .  .  . 


i822]       GOD'S    BENEVOLENCE         199 

Happiness  lies  at  our  own  door.  Misery  is 
further  away.  Until  I  know  by  bitter  personal 
experience  that  the  world  is  the  accursed  seat  of 
all  misfortunes,  and  as  long  as  I  find  it  a  garden 
of  delights — I  am  bound  to  adore  the  Benefi 
cent  Author  of  my  life.  .  .  .  No  representations 
of  foreign  misery  can  liquidate  your  debt  to 
Heaven.  You  must  join  the  choral  hymn  to 
which  the  Universe  resounds  in  the  ear  of  Faith, 
and  I  think,  of  Philosophy.  .  .  . 

The  mind  can  perceive  a  harmonious  whole, 
combined  and  overruled  by  a  sublime  Necessity, 
which  embraces  in  its  mighty  circle  the  freedom 
of  the  individuals,  and  without  subtracting  from 
any,  directs  all  to  their  appropriate  ends.  It  per 
ceives  a  purpose  to  pain,  and  sees  how  the  in 
struction  and  perfection  of  myriads  is  brought 
about  by  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  its  punish 
ment.  That  great  and  primeval  Necessity  may 
make  impossible  an  Universe  without  evil,  and 
perhaps  founds  happiness  everywhere,  as  here, 
upon  the  contrast  of  suffering.  This  question 
lies  at  the  sources  of  things,  and  we  are  only  in 
dulged  with  an  intimation  that  may  make  out 
the  just  goodness  of  the  Deity. 

(This  connection  may  be  deeper  and  more  in 
timate  than  we  are  apt  to  imagine,  and  the  cir- 


aoo  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

cumstances  observed  just  now,  seem  to  indicate 
that  it  is.  That  connection,  which  subsists  here 
in  character,  will  subsist  in  condition  hereafter. 
And  some  plan  will  be  developed,  in  which  the 
good  of  Evil  will  be  made  plain  on  the  general 
scale,  that  cannot  be  explained  upon  the  partic 
ular.)  .  .  . 

GREATNESS 

Every  man  who  enumerates  the  catalogue  of 
his  acquaintance  is  privately  conscious,  however 
reluctant  to  confess  the  inferiority,  of  a  certain 
number  of  minds  which  do  outrun  and  command 
his  own,  in  whose  company,  despite  the  laws  of 
good  breeding  and  the  fences  of  affectation,  his 
own  spirit  bows  like  the  brothers'  sheaves  to 
Joseph's  sheaf.  He  remembers  .the  soothsayer's 
faithful  account  of  Antony's  guardian  genius 
which  among  other  men  was  high  and  unmatch- 
able,  but  quailed  before  Caesar's.  He  remembers 
also  other  some  of  his  companions,  over  whom 
his  own  spirit  exercises  the  same  mastery.  And 
let  no  man  complain  of  the  inequality  of  such 
an  ordination,  or  call  Fortune  partial  in  the  dis 
tribution  of  her  blessings. 


i822j  AMERICA  201 

AMERICA 

December  21. 

There  is  everything  in  America's  favour,  to 
one  who  puts  faith  in  those  proverbial  pro 
phecies  of  the  Westward  progress  of  the  Car  of 
Empire.  Though  there  may  be  no  more  bar 
barians  left  to  overrun  Europe  and  extinguish 
forever  the  memory  of  its  greatness,  yet  its  rot 
ten  states,  like  Spain,  may  come  to  their  decline 
by  the  festering  and  inveteracy  of  the  faults  of 
government.  Aloof  from  the  contagion  during 
the  long  progress  of  their  decline,  America  hath 
ample  interval  to  lay  deep  and  solid  foundations 
for  the  greatness  of  the  New  World.  And  along 
the  shores  of  the  South  Continent,  to  which  the 
dregs  of  corruption  of  European  society  had 
been  unfortunately  transplanted,  the  fierceness 
of  the  present  conflict  for  independence  will,  no 
doubt,  act  as  a  powerful  remedy  to  the  disease, 
by  stirring  up  the  slumbering  spirits  of  those  in 
dolent  zones  to  a  consciousness  of  their  power 
and  destiny.  Here,  then,  new  Romes  are  grow 
ing,  and  the  Genius  of  man  is  brooding  over  the 
wide  boundaries  of  infant  empires,  where  yet  are 
to  be  drunk  the  intoxicating  draughts  of  honour 
and  renown ;  here  are  to  be  played  over  again 


202  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

the  bloody  games  of  human  ambition,  bigotry 
and  revenge,  and  the  stupendous  Drama  of  the 
passions  to  be  repeated.  Other  Cleopatras  shall 
seduce,  Alexanders  fight,  and  Caesars  die.  The 
pillars  of  social  strength,  which  we  occupy  our 
selves  in  founding  thus  firmly  to  endure  to 
future  ages  as  the  monuments  of  the  wisdom  of 
this,  are  to  be  shaken  on  their  foundations  with 
convulsions  proportioned  to  their  adamantine 
strength.  The  time  is  come,  the  hour  is  struck; 
already  the  actors  in  this  immense  and  tremen 
dous  scene  have  begun  to  assemble.  The  doors 
of  life  in  our  mountain-land  are  opened,  and  the 
vast  swarm  of  population  is  crowding  in,  bearing 
in  their  hands  the  burden  of  Sorrow  and  Sin,  of 
glory,  and  science,  which  are  to  be  mingled  in 
their  future  fates.  In  the  events  and  interests  of 
these  empires,  the  old  tales  of  history  and  the 
fortunes  of  departed  nations  shall  be  thoroughly 
forgotten  and  the  name  of  Rome  or  Britain  fall 
seldom  on  the  ear. 

In  that  event,  when  the  glory  of  Plato  of 
Greece,  of  Cicero  of  Rome,  and  of  Shakspeare 
of  England  shall  have  died,  who  are  they  that 
are  to  write  their  names  where  all  time  shall 
read  them,  and  their  words  be  the  oracle  of 
millions?  Let  those  who  would  pluck  the  lot  of 


i82z]  READING  203 

Immortality  from  Fate's  Urn,  look  well  to  the 
future  prospects  of  America. 


Friday  Evg.  Dec.  21,  1822. 
AUTHORS  OR  BOOKS  QUOTED  OR  REFERRED  TO 
IN  JOURNALS  OF  1822 

Homer;  Simonides;  Heraclitus;  Sophocles, 
Electra;  Thucydides;  Demosthenes; 

Bible;  Zoroaster; 

Cicero;  Lucretius;  Horace;  Plutarch  ;  Taci 
tus,  Germania ;  Seneca;  Marcus  Aurelius  ; 

Mediaeval  Mystery  Plays; 

Chaucer;  Shakspeare  ;  Ben  Jonson  ;  Bacon; 

Milton,  Paradise  Lost;  Boileau ; 

Locke,  On  the  Human  Understanding ;  Wil 
liam  Sherlock,  Sermon  on  Faith ; 

Newton;  Burnet,  Memorial;  Fontenelle; 

Pope;  Richardson,  Novels;  Montesquieu; 
Butler,  Analogy  ;  Voltaire  ; 

David  Hartley,  Observations  on  Man;  Dr. 
Johnson,  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes ;  Samuel 
Clarke;  Priestly; 

Gibbon,  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Em 
pire ;  Paley;  Logan,  Yarrow;  Speeches  of  Pitt, 
Burke,  Fox;  Dugald  Stewart,  Philosophy  of  the 
Mind ; 


204  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

Claudius  Buchanan,  Christian  Researches  in 
India;  Abernethy;  Buckminster, Sermons ;  Ara 
bian  Nights ; 

Scott,  The  Pirate,  Minstrelsy  ;  Byron,  Corsair, 
Childe  Harold ;  Fearing,  Travels  in  the  United 
States;  Sismondi,  Italian  Republics;  Leigh  Hunt, 
Song. 


JOURNAL   X 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.   9 

"  Pass  not  unblest  the  Genius  of  the  place." 

Saturday  Evening,  December  21,  1822. 
To  the  Genius  of  the  Future,  I  dedicate  my 
page. 

u  Incipe.  Vivendi  qui  recte  prorogat  horam, 
Rusticus  expectat  dum  defluat  amnis  ;  at  ille 
Labitur  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  aevum." 

[GOOD  HOPE] 

.  .  .  If  the  misanthrope  take  refuge  in  analogy 
—  it  will  fail  him.  For  though  we  bewail  the  im 
perfection  of  sublunary  things,  yet  all  things  in 
the  mineral,  vegetable  and  animal  kingdom  have 
a  perfection,  which,  though  not  attained  in  the 
hundred  instances, — is  attained  in  the  thousand ; 
is  attained  much  oftener  than  not.  Man  in  many 
trials  has  failed  ;  .  .  .  But  now  a  preparation  is 
made  for  another  experiment  which  begins  with 
infinite  advantages.  I  need  not  name  the  daily 
blessings  which  are  diffused  over  the  present  gen 
eration  and  distinguish  them  above  antiquity.  I 
notice  only  that  they  possess  Christianity  and  a 


206  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

civilization  more  deeply  ingrafted  in  the  mind 
(by  reason  of  the  extraordinary  aids  it  derives 
from  inventions  and  discoveries)  than  ever  it  has 
before  been.  It  is  the  nature  of  these  advantages 
to  multiply  themselves.  Providence  ordains  that 
every  improvement  extend  an  influence  of  infi 
nite  extent  over  the  face  of  society.  For  centuries 
back,  the  progress  of  human  affairs  has  appeared 
to  indicate  some  better  era ;  and  finally  when  all 
events  were  prepared,  God  has  opened  a  new  the 
atre  for  this  ultimate  trial.  This  country  is  daily 
rising  to  a  higher  comparative  importance  and 
attracting  the  eyes  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world  to 
the  development  of  its  embryo  greatness. 

ALFRED  THE  GREAT 

Christmas,  December  25. 
If  (as  saith  Voltaire)  all  that  is  related  of  Alfred 
the  Great  be  true,  I  know  not  the  man  that  ever 
lived,  more  worthy  of  the  gratitude  of  posterity. 
I  hope  the  reservation  means  nothing.  There  is 
not  one  incredible  assertion  made  either  of  his 
abilities,  his  character,  or  his  actions.  Besides  it 
was  not  an  age,  nor  were  Saxon  monks  the  men, 
to  invent  and  adorn  another  Cyropaedia.  Sharon 
Turner,  an  ambitious  flashing  writer,-  and  else 
where  a  loon,  hath  done  well  by  Alfred.  His 


1823]  EVERETT  207 

praise  rests  not  upon  monkish  eulogy  or  vague 

tradition,  but  upon  facts.  .  .  . 

December  26,  1822. 

I  have  heard  this  evening  and  shall  elsewhere 
record  Prof.  Everett's  lecture  upon  Eleusinian 
mysteries,  Dodona,and  St.  Sophia's  temple.  .  .  . 

Though  the  lecture  contained  nothing  origi 
nal,  and  no  very  remarkable  views,  yet  it  was  an 
account  of  antiquities  bearing  everywhere  that 
"  fine  Roman  hand,"  and  presented  in  the  inimi 
table  style  of  our  Cicero.  "  Bigotry  and  Philoso 
phy  are  the  opposite  poles  of  the  judgment,  and 
the  scepticism  of  Hume  and  Gibbon  is  as  differ 
ent  as  the  superstition  of  the  Catholics  from  the 
freedom  of  the  Protestant."  (PROFESSOR  E.) 

Saturday  Evening,  January  n. 
cc  My  bosom's  lord  sits  lightly  on  his  throne"; 
I  cannot  distinctly  discern  the  cause;  tomorrow 
he  will  sit  heavily  there;  and  after  a  few  days  more, 
he  shall  cease  to  be.  The  connexions  which  he 
nursed  with  earthly  society  shall  be  broken  off, 
and  the  memory  of  his  individual  influence  shall 
be  obliterated  from  human  hearts.  It  may  chance 
that  he  will  resume  his  thought  elsewhere ;  that 
while  the  place  from  whence  he  passed  forgets 


208  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

him,  he  shall  nourish  the  fires  of  a  pure  ambition 
in  some  freer  sanctuary  than  this  world  holds.  It 
is  possible  that  the  infinity  of  another  world  may 
so  crowd  his  conception,  as  to  divest  him  of  that 
cumbrous  sense  of  self  that  weighs  him  down, — 
until  he  lose  his  individual  existence  in  his  efforts 
for  the  Universe. 

TIME 

.  .  .  The  years  of  infancy  fled,  and  those  toys 
dwindled  away  to  make  room  for  the  splendid 
hopes  and  enthusiastic  resolutions  of  youth. 
The  sky  was  not  so  bright,  and  alas  !  not  so 
changeable  as  its  promises.  It  revelled  in  the 
sight  of  beauty,  and  the  sound  of  music,  in  the 
motion  of  the  limbs,  in  the  intercourse  of 
friends,  and  in  all  the  joys  of  a  pleasant  and 
gorgeous  world.  But  the  crimson  flush  went 
from  its  cheek  and  the  joyous  light  from  its  eye  ; 
its  bones  hardened  into  manhood,  and  its  years 
departed  beyond  the  flood.  Reason  watched 
them  as  they  departed,  and  was  bitterly  morti 
fied  to  find  how  insignificant  they  became  in 
the  view.  Those  changes  and  events  which  had 
engaged  the  mind  by  their  gigantic  greatness 
sunk  now  to  pigmy  dimensions,  and  so  dim 
were  their  images  upon  the  memory  that  it 


1823]  MORAL   SENSE  209 

was  hard  to  believe  they  were  not  altogether  a 
dream. 

After  a  few  more  turnings  of  the  globe  in  its 
orbit,  manhood,  age  and  life  itself  will  have 
passed,  and  as  I  advance,  that  which  I  have  left 
behind  will  continually  grow  less  and  less.  As 
I  reach  and  pass  successively  the  several  epochs 
of  existence,  the  things  of  former  pursuit  will 
degenerate  in  my  esteem.  All,  all,  will  be  un- 
remembered  as  if  they  had  never  been.  The 
mind  writes  daily,  in  its  recollections  of  the 
past,  but  one  epitaph  upon  Time  —  "Vanity  of 
Vanities,  all  is  Vanity  ! "  God  forbid  that  this 
be  the  faithful  history  of  the  Universe.  .  .  . 


MORAL  SENSE 

.  .  .  There  is  one  distinction  amid  these  fad 
ing  phenomena — one  decided  distinction  which 
is  real  and  eternal  and  which  will  survive  nature 
—  I  mean  the  distinction  of  Right  and  Wrong. 
Your  opinions  upon  all  other  topics,  and  your 
feelings  with  regard  to  this  world,  in  childhood, 
youth,  and  age,  perpetually  change.  Your  per 
ceptions  of  right  and  wrong  never  change.  You 
can  dismiss  the  world  from  your  mind,  and  al 
most  abolish  in  your  imagination  the  dominion 


210  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

of  sense;  but  you  can  never  bury  in  your  breast 
the  sense  of  offended  Justice.  .  .  . 

The  mind  may  lose  its  acquaintance  with  other 
minds,  and  may  abandon,  without  a  sigh,  this 
glorious  universe,  as  a  tent  of  the  night  to  dwell 
in;  but  it  cannot  part  with  its  moral  principle, 
by  which  it  becomes  akin  to  the  extraordinary 
intelligences  that  are  to  accompany  its  everlast 
ing  journey  to  the  throne  of  God.  If  there  be 
anything  real  under  heaven,  or  in  heaven,  the 
perception  of  right  and  wrong  relates  to  that 
reality.  Dogmatists  and  philosophers  may  easily 
convince  me  that  my  mind  is  but  the  abode  of 
many  passing  shadows  by  the  belief  of  whose 
existence  about  me  I  am  mocked.  I  shall  not 
very  sturdily  combat  this  ancient  scepticism  be 
cause,  to  my  mind  and  to  every  mind,  it  has 
often  seemed  problematical  whether  or  not  it  was 
cheated  by  an  unsubstantial  edifice  of  thought. 
But  it  is  in  the  constitution  of  the  mind  to  rely 
with  firmer  confidence  upon  the  moral  principle, 
and  I  reject  at  once  the  idea  of  a  delusion  in  this. 
This  is  woven  vitally  into  the  thinking  substance 
itself,  so  that  it  cannot  be  diminished  or  destroyed 
without  dissipating  forever  that  spirit  which  it 
inhabited.  Upon  the  foundation  of  my  moral 
sense  I  ground  my  faith  in  the  immortality  of 


i823]  ENTHUSIASM  211 

the  soul,  in  the  existence  and  activity  of  good 
beings,  and  in  the  promise  of  rewards  accommo 
dated  hereafter  to  the  vicious  or  virtuous  dispo 
sitions  which  were  cultivated  here.  The  great 
citizenship  of  the  universe,  which  all  souls  par 
take,  has  this  for  its  common  bond  and  charter, 
which  none  may  violate,  without  taking  upon 
themselves  the  peril  of  losing  its  infinite  privi 
leges.  Upon  the  bounded  field  of  this  earth,  na 
tions  upon  nations  of  men  have  expired  in  suc 
cession,  and  borne  to  other  and  unseen  countries 
the  minds  that  dwelled  here  for  a  space ;  and  all 
the  individuals  of  this  host  have  consented  to 
gether  in  one  respect  alone,  namely,  the  acknow 
ledgement  of  this  inward  tribunal  of  thought  and 
action.  They  obeyed  or  disobeyed  its  law,  they 
suffered  or  rejoiced,  as  they  might;  but  not  one 
ever  escaped  from  this  high,  unyielding,  univer 
sal  thraldom  which  the  Author  of  Mind  has 
created  upon  the  mind. 

ENTHUSIASM 

January  19,  1823. 

The  ideas  of  Deity  and  religious  worship  read 
ily  find  admission  to  the  mind,  and  are  readily 
abused.  The  clown  on  a  dunghill  can  exalt  his 
capacity  to  these  truths  and  is  delighted  and  flat- 


212  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

tered  by  this  consciousness  of  a  new  and  tran 
scendent  power.  God  is  infinitely  above  the  whole 
creation,  and  he  that  aspires  to  worship  Him, 
feels  that  his  mounting  spirit  leaves  the  rest  of 
the  Universe  beneath  his  feet.  Enthusiasm  is 
therefore  apt  to  generate  in  uncultivated  minds 
a  rash  and  ignorant  contempt  for  the  slow  modes 
of  education  and  the  cautious  arts  of  reasoning 
by  which  enlightened  men  arrive  at  wisdom  — 
because  they  have  themselves  acquired  this  sur 
passing  conception  without  the  irksome  toil  of 
the  intermediate  steps.  The  boor  becomes  philo 
sopher  at  once,  and  boldly  issues  the  dogmas  of 
a  religious  creed  from  the  exuberance  of  a  coarse 
imagination.  The  tumults  of  a  troubled  mind  are 
mistaken  for  the  inspiration  of  an  apostle,  and 
the  strength  of  excited  feelings  is  substituted  for 
the  dispassionate  and  tardy  induction,  the  com 
parison  of  scripture  and  reason,  which  sanctions 
the  devotions  of  moderate  and  liberal  men. 

This  has  been  everywhere  found  to  be  the 
history  of  religious  error ;  not  merely  in  the  fa 
naticism  of  sects,  but  in  the  mistakes  and  super 
stitions  of  individuals.  Every  man's  heaven  is 
different;  and  is  coloured  by  the  character  and 
tone  of  feeling  most  natural  to  his  mind.  And, 
in  like  manner,  his  conceptions  of  the  Divine  Be- 


,823]  PRAYER  213 

ing  will  vary  with  the  narrowness  or  justness  of 
his  modes  of  thinking.  A  mind  which  is  remark 
able  for  the  truth  and  grandeur  of  its  views  in 
physical  or  metaphysical  science  will  seldom  be 
found  the  dupe  of  an  unrelenting  bigotry  in  its 
religious  faith.  .  .  .  Intellectual  habits  are  not 
the  sudden  productions  of  an  accident,  but  are 
formed  slowly,  and  confirmed  from  day  to  day 
by  the  influence  of  events,  until  they  acquire  an 
immutable  strength  that  may  outlast  the  period 
of  this  life.  We  think  of  God,  therefore,  as  we 
think  of  man.  Our  views  of  human  nature  are 
liable  to  mistake;  so  are  our  views  of  the  divine. 


PRAYER 


, 


.  .  .  The  origin  of  prayer  is  no  doubt  to  be 
traced  in  our  comparison  of  finite  beings  with 
the  infinite  Being.  To  obtain  bread,  we  prayed 
our  neighbour  to  impart  from  his  store.  But  to 
obtain  more  than  bread,  —  to  obtain  our  health 
or  the  life  of  a  friend,  to  change  the  course  of 
events,  is  beyond  our  neighbours  power.  Man 
remembered  in  his  hour  of  need  that  there  was 
a  Power  above  him,  and  uttered  an  ejaculation 
of  his  distress  and  his  hopes,  dictated  by  pre 
cisely  the  same  emotions  which  moved  him  to 
address  his  earthly  friend.  Thus  far  the  analogy 


214  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

is  unexceptionable,  but  if  pursued  farther  it  fails. 
A  judge  has  decreed  the  death  of  a  criminal ; 
the  father  and  friends  of  the  unfortunate  man 
come  before  the  tribunal  to  pray  for  his  life,  and 
plead  with  such  importunity  and  eloquence  that 
the  judge  consents  to  set  aside  the  sentence. 
The  character  of  the  culprit  is  not  amended, 
but  the  free  course  of  justice  is  stopped,  and 
society  wronged,  by  the  earnestness  of  the  sup 
plication.  (In  the  ancient  Persian  religion,  it 
is  forbidden  to  petition  for  blessings  to  them 
selves  individually ;  the  prayer  must  extend  to 
the  whole  Persian  nation.)  In  like  manner, 
men  came  to  their  Maker  to  ask  the  favour  of 
a  partial  event,  a  particular  blessing  that  will 
prove  prejudicial  to  the  whole ;  and  reasoning 
erroneously  from  human  experience,  they  con 
cluded  that  there  was  a  certain  force  in  prayer 
that  would  extend  some  controul  even  over  the 
Mind  of  Deity.  Pity  and  irresolution  in  the 
human  judge  triumphed  over  his  knowledge 
and  his  virtue,  and  the  worshipper  flattered 
himself  with  the  hope  that  even  God  might  be 
induced  to  hesitate  by  the  offering  of  heca 
tombs  and  clamorous  petition.  The  idolatry  of 
every  nation  has  had  a  tendency  towards  this 
belief,  that  the  arm  of  omnipotence  could  be 


i823]  PRAYER  215 

chained  down  by  sacrifice  and  entreaty,  which 
the  Hindoo  mythology  has  pursued  to  extrav 
agant  lengths.  Prayer  and  penance  by  their  in 
trinsic  virtue  will  raise  the  worshipper  above 
the  power  of  gods  and  men,  until  it  hurls  the 
Highest  from  his  throne  to  make  room  for  the 
devout  usurper.  Such  a  creed  shocks  the  mind  ; 
but  a  secret  bias  to  this  belief  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  in  Christian  countries.  We  are 
prone  to  think  that  the  prayers  of  righteous 
men  avail  with  God  to  check  or  change  the 
course  of  events,  which  implies  either  that  those 
events  were  ill-ordered  before,  or  that  they  will 
take  a  wrong  direction  now ;  but  both  these 
hypotheses  are  inconsistent  with  our  trust  in 
the  superintendence  of  Providence  over  human 
affairs.  .  .  . 

The  opposition  of  a  General  to  a  Particular 
Providence  is  often  implied  in  prayer.  Antiquity 
viewed  the  gods  as  the  Particular,  Fate  as  the 
General  Providence,  and  reconciles  them  by 
making  Fate  absolute  in  the  administration  of 
the  Universe.  Our  perplexity  springs  from  the 
union  of  both  in  the  hands  of  One  God. 

.  .  .  When  God  has  ordained  a  change  of 
events  and  the  aspect  of  the  world,  suggesting 
the  benefits  of  such  a  change  to  the  mind,  in- 


216  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

duces  man  to  pray  for  it,  in  this  case,  the  event 
coincides  with  the  prayer,  and  is  interpreted  as 
an  especial  interposition.  With  this  solitary  ex 
ception,  men's  prayers  and  the  succession  of 
events  have  no  direct  connexion  at  all  with  each 
other.  .  .  . 

Human  curiosity  is  forever  engaged  in  seek 
ing  out  ways  and  means  of  making  a  connection 
between  the  mind  and  the  world  of  matter  with 
out,  or  the  world  of  mind  that  has  subsisted 
here,  or  an  uniting  bridge  which  shall  join  to 
future  ages  our  own  memory  and  deeds.  This 
laudable  curiosity  should  not  neglect  the  forma 
tion  of  a  bond  which  proposes  to  unite  it,  not  to 
men,  to  matter,  or  to  beasts,  but  to  the  Unseen 
Spirit  of  the  Universe.  Our  native  delight  in  the 
intercourse  of  other  beings  urges  us  to  cultivate 
with  assiduity  the  friendship  of  great  minds. 
But  there  is  a  Mind  to  whom  all  their  greatness 
is  vanity  and  nothing;  who  did  himself  create 
and  communicate  all  the  intellect  that  exists ; 
and  there  is  a  mode  of  intercourse  provided  by 
which  we  can  approach  this  excellent  majesty. 
That  Mind  is  God ;  and  that  Mode  is  Prayer. 

"  And  if  by  prayer 
Incessant  I  could  hope  to  change  the  will 


i823]  HISTORY  217 

Of  Him  who  all  things  can,  I  would  not  cease 
To  weary  Him  with  my  assiduous  cries. 
But  prayer  against  his  absolute  decree 
No  more  avails  than  breath  against  the  wind 
Blown  stifling  back  on  him  that  breathes  it  forth." 

Paradise  Lost^  Book  XL 


HISTORY 

In  reading  History  it  is  hard  to  keep  the  eye 
steadily  fixed  upon  any  distinct  moral  view  of 
the  species,  to  which  we  may  readily  refer  all 
the  facts  recorded  of  individuals.  When  we  lay 
aside  the  book,  and  think  of  man,  our  habitual 
theories  regard  him  as  a  being  in  a  state  of  pro 
bation,  and  we  elevate  the  whole  human  race  to 
an  exalted  equality  of  condition  and  destiny. 
Resume  the  page,  and  you  are  convinced  at 
once,  that  whatever  opinions  you  are  yourself 
pleased  to  entertain  concerning  them,  —  it  never 
entered  the  minds  of  the  majority  of  mankind  in 
past  ages  that  any  such  equality  prevailed,  or 
that  they  sustained  any  very  sublime  rank  in  the 
scale  of  creation.  They  have  themselves  shewn 
a  melancholy  apathy  (that  is  madness  in  the  eye 
of  a  philanthropist)  to  every  supposed  noble 
ness  of  moral  or  intellectual  design ;  they  — 
that  is  the  majority  —  have  uniformly  preferred 


2i8  JOURNAL  [AGE  23 

the  body  to  the  mind,  have  permitted  the  free 
and  excessive  enjoyment  of  their  sensual  appe 
tites,  and  chained  down  in  torpid  dreams  the 
noble  appetites  of  the  soul.  Instead  of  eating  to 
live,  men  have  lived  to  eat,  to  drink,  and  to  be 
merry;  and  when  ordinary  means  failed  to  bring 
about  these  grand  purposes,  then  the  extraordi 
nary  means  of  lies;  murder  and  robbery  have 
been  resorted  to.  No  doubt  good  men  are  also 
found  in  the  dramatic  variety  of  the  tale,  to  recall 
the  mind  to  the  theory  from  which  it  has  wan 
dered  ;  but  a  good  man  in  the  world  is  aptly  re 
presented  by  a  stag  in  the  chase,  as  the  one  mark 
and  victim  at  whose  cost  the  enjoyment  of  all  the 
rest  is  procured.  ...  It  seems  to  be  a  mockery 
to  send  us  to  this  howling  wilderness  to  pluck 
roses  and  fruits.  The  rose  is  blooming  there  and 
the  wild  flowers  hanging  luxuriantly,  but  they 
cast  their  perfume  in  the  tiger's  den.  Fanciful 
men,  heated  by  the  new  wine  of  their  imagina 
tions,  have  attempted  to  woo  the  indignant  Rea 
son  into  a  better  love  of  this  darkened  world ; 
Epicurean  pencils  have  painted  it  as  perfectly 
accommodated  to  our  powers  of  enjoyment,  as 
fraught  with  every  luxury,  grace  and  good  which 
we  desire  to  gain,  as  the  palace  of  beauty  and 
love,  the  vast  mart  of  thought,  friendship,  so- 


i823]  HISTORY  219 

ciety  and  distinction,  the  home  of  Virtue  and  the 
End  of  Hope.  So  it  is  pictured,  and  so  we  be 
lieve  in  childhood ;  but  our  first  mature  glance 
at  the  actual  state  of  society  falls  upon  so  much 
real  deformity  and  such  low  moral  and  intellect 
ual  turpitude  that  the  fair  fabric  of  the  imagina 
tion  is  speedily  undermined.  We  find  it  difficult 
or  impossible  to  reconcile  the  phenomena  which 
we  observe  with  any  plausible  hypotheses  that 
heaven  or  earth  have  told  us  of  their  design ; 
but  humanity  always  resembles  itself,  and  we 
readily  recognize  the  imposture  that  attempts  to 
describe  better  beings  than  men.  For  this  more 
brilliant  and  seductive  faith  concerning  man  and 
the  earth  is  deduced  from  false  and  partial  re 
presentations  of  human  nature,  and  makes  only 
momentary  converts  when  it  is  aided  by  the  gay 
exhilaration  which  nature  within  and  without 
awakens  in  youth,  or  by  the  few  hours  or  mo 
ments  that  happen  in  a  man's  life,  when  the  heart 
is  swelled  and  imagination  is  feasted  at  seasons 
of  revel,  magnificence  and  public  joy.  Whereas 
the  times  when  the  contrary  conviction  is  forced 
upon  the  soul,  outnumber  these  moments  a 
thousand  fold. 


220  JOURNAL  [AGE  23 

HISTORY  (continued) 

The  history  of  America  since  the  Revolution 
is  meagre  because  it  has  been  all  that  time  under 
better  government,  better  circumstances  of  re 
ligious,  moral,  political,  commercial  prosperity 
than  any  nation  ever  was  before.  History  will 
continually  grow  less  interesting  as  the  world 
grows  better.  Professor  Playfair  of  Edinburgh, 
the  greatest,  or  one  of  the  greatest  men  of  his 
time,  died  without  a  biography,  for  there  was 
no  incident  in  the  life  of  a  great  and  good  man 
worth  recording.  Nelson  and  Bonaparte,  men  of 
abilities  without  principles,  found  four  or  five 
biographies  apiece. 

The  true  epochs  of  history  should  be  those 
successive  triumphs  which,  age  after  age,  the 
communities  of  men  have  achieved,  such  as  the 
Reformation,  the  Revival  of  letters,  the  progres 
sive  Abolition  of  the  slave-trade. 

Whoever  considers  what  kind  of  a  spirit  it 
is  which  prompts  men  to  write,  will  remark  the 
improbability  that  a  knowledge  of  the  domestic 
manners  of  an  ancient  people  should  be  trans 
mitted  to  a  remote  age,  by  any  but  the  most 
fortuitous  event.  Literature  grew  out  of  the 


i8z3]       DOMESTIC   MANNERS 

necessity  of  written  monuments,  and  in  its  first 
expansion  into  an  elegant  art,  while  yet  its  me 
chanical  advantages  were  rude  and  poor,  it  was 
devoted  only  to  those  great  features  on  the  face 
of  the  world  which  first  forced  themselves  on  the 
mind  of  the  writer,  —  to  the  history  of  laws,  of 
colonies,  of  wars,  and  of  religion.  For  his  illus 
trations,  the  writer  appealed  to  nature,  and  upon 
the  early  discovery  of  the  delight  given  by  these 
appeals,  was  formed  a  new  department  of  the  Art 
which  was  called  poetry. 

.««••••• 

DOMESTIC  MANNERS 

.  .  .  If  we  had  a  series  of  faithful  portraits  of 
private  life  in  Egypt,  Assyria,  Greece  and  Rome, 
we  might  relinquish  without  a  sigh  their  national 
annals.  The  great  passions  which  move  a  whole 
nation,  and  the  common  sense  of  mankind,  are 
alike  everywhere,  and  these  determine  the  for 
eign  relations  and  the  political  counsels  of  men. 
But  private  life  hath  more  delicate  varieties,  which 
differ  in  unlike  circumstances ;  .  .  . 

.  .  .  Our  vague  and  pompous  outlines  of  his 
tory  serve  but  to  define  in  geographical  and 
chronological  limits,  the  faint  vestiges  we  pos 
sess  of  former  nations.  But  of  what  mighty  mo- 


222  JOURNAL  [AcE  19 

ment  is  it  that  we  know  the  precise  scene  of  a 
Virtue  or  a  Vice  ?  Give  us  the  bare  narrative  of 
the  moral  beings  engaged,  the  moral  feelings  con 
cerned,  and  the  result  —  and  you  have  answered 
all  our  purpose,  all  the  ultimate  design  which  leads 
the  mind  to  explore  the  past.  (That  is  of  a  specu 
lative  mind  —  apart  from  all  purposes  of  govern 
ment  and  policy  —  for  the  purposes  of  another 
world,  rather  than  for  this.)  For  the  history  of 
nations  is  but  the  history  of  private  Virtues  and 
Vices  collected  in  a  more  splendid  field,  a  wider 
sky.  To  little  purpose  you  would  shew  the  cu 
rious  philosopher  a  mighty  forest,  extending  at 
a  distance  its  thousand  majestic  trees;  a  single 
branch,  a  stem,  a  leaf,  in  his  hand  is  of  more 
value  to  him  for  all  the  purposes  of  science. 
Even  the  Eternal  Geometer,  in  the  fancy  of 
Leibnitz,  deduces  the  past  and  present  condi 
tion  of  the  Universe  from  the  examination  of 
the  single  atom. 

SOLITUDE 

The  gods  and  wild  beasts  are  both,  to  a  pro 
verb,  fond  of  solitude ;  thought  makes  the  differ 
ence  between  the  solitude  of  the  god  and  that 
of  the  lion. 


1 823]  IMAGINATION  223 

[IMAGINATION  versus  THOUGHT] 

In  the  entry  of  the  saloon  there  has  been  con 
siderable  bustle ;  but  an  individual  now  stood  there 
to  throw  off  his  blue  cloak,  whose  figure  arrested 
at  once  the  whole  attention  of  two  or  three  guests 
who  chanced  to  be  looking  towards  the  door.  A 
whisper  instantly  circulated  to  inform  the  party 
of  the  presence  of  a  most  distinguished  and  wel 
come  guest.  Every  one  rose  at  his  entrance,  and 
the  stranger  advanced  with  an  air  of  dignified  ma 
jesty  towards  the  centre  of  the  hall.  Franklin  sa 
luted  him  with  evident  respect  and  introduced  him 
to  the  company  as  the  first  American  President. 
There  was  no  brilliant  sparkle  in  his  eye  which 
attracted  notice,  nor  rapid  change  of  expression 
in  his  countenance ;  his  countenance  was  com 
posed  and  a  graceful  dignity  marked  every  mo 
tion,  so  that  he  was  rather  the  Jupiter  than  the 
Apollo  of  the  group.  This  however  was  mani 
fest,  that  from  the  time  of  his  entrance,  during 
all  that  long  conference,  the  first  place  in  that 
society  was  invariably,  and  of  right,  as  it  seemed, 
conceded  to  him.  A  most  melodious  voice  which 
rolled  richly  on  the  ear  and  was  that  of  Cicero, 
addressed  the  last  mentioned  person.  "  I  esteem 
myself  happy  to  stand  in  the  company  of  one  to 


224  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

whom  Heaven  seems  to  have  united  me  by  a  cer 
tain  similarity  of  fortune  and  the  common  glory 
of  saving  a  state.  But  the  fates  have  given  you 
an  advantage,  O  most  illustrious  man,  above  my 
lot,  in  granting  you  an  honourable  decline  and 
death  amid  the  regrets  of  your  country,  while  I 
fell  by  the  vengeance  of  the  flagitious  Antony." 
Gibbon  put  up  his  lip  at  this  speech;  and  Frank 
lin,  who  sat  with  his  hands  upon  his  knees  between 
Washington  and  Gibbon,  &c.  &C.1 

"Tush!"  he  said,  "thoughts  and  imagina 
tions!  I  tell  thee,  man,  that  I,  who  have  got 
my  bread  and  fame  by  informing  the  world,  can 
write,  in  twenty  lines,  all  the  thoughts  that  ever 
I  had,  while  the  imaginations  would  fill  a  thou 
sand  fair  pages." 

[ANIMALS] 

March  6,  1823. 

My  brother  Edward  asks  me,  Whether  I 
have  a  right  to  make  use  of  animals  ?  I  answer 
"Yes,"  and  shall  attempt  to  give  my  reasons. 
A  poor  native  of  Lapland  found  himself  in 
midwinter  destitute  of  food,  of  clothing  and 

I  The  author  evidently  postponed  to  another  day  telling 
what  Franklin' s  remark  or  gesture  was,  in  his  eagerness  to  give 
Gibbon  the  floor. 


i823]  BODY  AND    SOUL  225 

light,  and  without  even  a  bow  to  defend  him 
self  from  the  beasts.  In  this  perplexity  he  met 
with  a  reindeer,  which  he  killed  and  conveyed 
to  his  hut.  He  now  found  himself  supplied 
with  oil  to  light  his  lamp,  with  a  warm  covering 
for  his  body  and  with  wholesome  and  strength 
ening  food,  and  with  bowstrings  withal,  where 
by  he  could  again  procure  a  similar  supply. 
Does  any  mind  question  the  innocence  of  this 
starving  wretch  in  thus  giving  life  and  comfort 
to  a  desolate  family  in  that  polar  corner  of  the 
world  ?  .  .  .Now  there  is  a  whole  nation  of  men 
precisely  in  this  condition,  all  reduced  to  the 
alternative  of  killing  the  beasts,  or  perishing 
themselves.  Let  the  tender-hearted  advocate  of 
the  brute  creation  go  there,  and  choose  whether 
he  would  make  the  beasts  bis  food,  or  be  him 
self  theirs.  .  .  . 

[BODY  AND  SOUL] 

March  10. 

The  mixture  of  the  body  and  soul  is  the 
great  wonder  in  the  world,  and  our  familiarity 
with  this  puts  us  at  ease  with  all  that  is  unac 
countable  in  our  condition.  Providence,  no 
doubt,  scrupulously  observes  the  proportions 
of  this  mixture,  and  requires  for  the  soundness 


226  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

of  both,  a  fixed  equilibrium.  The  gross  appe 
tites  of  the  body  are  sometimes  indulged  until 
the  mind  by  long  disuse  loses  the  command 
of  her  noble  faculties,  and  one  after  another, 
star  after  star,  they  are  gradually  extinguished. 
Those  passages  and  conduits  of  thought,  of  di 
vine  construction,  through  which  God  intended 
that  the  streams  of  intellect  should  flow  in 
various  directions,  —  because  they  have  never 
been  used,  have  fallen  to  ruin,  and  are  choked 
up  ;  Mind,  from  being  the  free  born  citizen  of 
the  Universe  and  the  inheritor  of  glory,  has  be 
come  the  caterer  and  the  pander  of  sense.  Even 
the  body,  from  being  the  upright  lord  of  the 
lower  creation  and  the  temperate  owner  of  a 
thousand  pleasures,  has  abused  his  liberties, 
until  he  is  the  slave  of  those  pleasures,  and  the 
imitator  and  peer  of  the  beasts.  This  is  one 
mode  of  destroying  the  balance  that  Nature 
fixed  in  our  compound  frame.  .  .  . 

Ascetic  mortification  and  an  unintermitting, 
livelong  martyrdom  of  all  the  sensual  appetites, 
although  far  more  innocent  than  the  contrary 
extreme,  is  nevertheless  unwise,  because  it  fails 
of  its  intended  effect.  Hermits,  who  believed 
that  by  this  merciless  crucifixion  of  the  lusts  of 
the  body  they  should  succeed  in  giving  to  the 


i8z3]  BODY   AND    SOUL  227 

winds  the  rags  and  tatters  of  a  corrupt  nature, 
and  elevate  and  purge  the  soul  in  exact  propor 
tion  to  the  sufferings  of  the  flesh,  have  been  dis 
appointed  in  their  hopes  ;  at  least,  if  they  have 
succeeded  in  deceiving  themselves,  they  have 
grievously  disappointed  the  world.1  .  .  . 

But  these  golden  dreams  of  a  rapid  ameliora 
tion  of  the  world  to  issue  from  the  prayers  and 
penances  that  stormed  heaven  from  these  soli 
tudes,  vanished  away.  The  solitary  man  was  as 
other  men  are.  His  sufferings  had  soured  his 
temper,  or  inflamed  his  pride ;  the  current  of 
thought  had  been  checked  and  frozen.  His 
powers  and  dispositions  were  diverted  from  use 
ful  ends  and  were  barren  and  selfish.  Instead  of 
the  blessed  plant  which  they  thought  had  sprung 
for  the  healing  of  the  nations,  was  a  dry  and 
withered  branch ;  it  was  sundered  from  its  root ; 
producing  neither  blossoms,  nor  leaves,  nor 
fruits,  't  was  fit  only  for  the  fire. 

March  12. 

.  .  .  But  there  was  an  elder  scripture,  a  prior 
command ;  Love  thy  neighbor;  amid  your  right 
eous  war  against  your  passions,  forget  not  that 
you  are  a  man;  that  you  are  one  individual  of  a 

i  Here  follows  a  long  passage  on  the  hermits  of  the  The- 
baid  and  their  temporary  repute  for  their  sacrifices. 


228  JOURNAL  [AGE  ,9 

great  and  immortal  company,  who,  with  you,  are 
labouring  on  to  attainment  of  objects  which  de 
mand  all  and  more  than  all  their  faculties  to  ap 
preciate  and  reach ;  that  thousands  of  these  are 
fainting  or  falling  by  the  way,  and  will  task  your 
utmost  benevolence  to  lend  them  needful  aid. 
And  when  a  man  has  duly  considered,  ...  I 
think  he  will  be  led  to  undervalue  the  precious 
qualities  of  that  man's  virtue  who,  like  the  priest 
and  the  Levite  of  the  parable,  goes  on  the  other 
side  and  extricates  himself  as  he  can  from  the 
importunity  of  want  or  the  cries  of  the  dying. 
.  .  .  The  earth  which  supports  him  upon  her 
bosom,  the  common  mother  of  us  all,  has  a  right 
to  ask  at  his  hands  some  return  for  her  bounties, 
and  what  immunity  it  is  entitles  him  to  nurse  his 
own  unprofitable  existence,  without  putting  his 
shoulder  to  the  wheel  or  bearing  his  part  of  the 
burden  of  life;  without  giving  help  to  the  weary 
or  pouring  one  drop  of  balm  into  the  wounded 
heart. 

I  am  persuaded  that  God  enforces  the  law 
.  .  .  to  make  the  perfection  of  man's  nature 
consist  in  a  fixed  equilibrium  of  the  body  and 
the  mind.  Those  masters  of  the  moral  world, 
who  have  preserved  an  undisputed  lordship  over 


1823]  BODY   AND   SOUL  229 

good  minds  for  ages  after  they  themselves  have 
died,  have  not  gained  that  rare  fortune  by  any 
extraordinary  manners  of  life,  or  any  unseemly 
defiance  of  the  elements,  or  of  death.  Temper 
ate,  unassuming  men,  they  have  conformed  to 
the  fashions  of  the  times  in  which  they  fell, 
without  effort  or  contempt.  God,  in  their  minds, 
removed  the  ancient  landmarks  of  thought,  or 
else  gave  them  strength  to  overleap  the  bound 
ary,  so  that  they  took  in  a  mightier  vision  of  the 
state  of  man  than  their  fellows  had  done.  In  all 
this  they  did  not  see  differently  from  them,  but 
saw  beyond  the  common  limit.  Accordingly  it 
was  no  part  of  their  pride  to  be  at  discord  with 
men  upon  common  matters  of  every  day's  ob 
servation.  Upon  trifles  of  time  and  sense  they 
all  thought  alike.  Deeper  thoughts  and  remote 
consequences,  far  beyond  the  ken  of  vulgar 
judgments,  and  yet  intimately  connected  with  the 
progress  and  destinies  of  society,  were  the  points 
they  fixed  their  eyes  upon ;  and  upon  the  distinct 
ness  with  which  they  were  able  to  detect  these, 
they  chiefly  valued  themselves.  It  is  a  delightful 
relief  in  the  afflicting  history  of  the  world,  it  is 
a  crystal  fountain  gushing  in  the  wilderness  — 
to  remember  the  men  who  exercised  this  peace 
ful  and  sublime  dominion  over  human  hearts  not 


230  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

cemented  by  the  blood  nor  shaken  by  the  curses 
of  enemies.  Bound  like  other  men  to  the  com 
plicated  machine  of  society,  and  their  fortunes 
perhaps  inseparably  linked  to  the  greatness  of 
another  house  —  these  minds  quietly  founded 
a  kingdom  of  their  own,  which  should  long  out 
last  the  ruins  of  that  transient  dynasty  in  which 
it  grew.  .  .  .  Men  of  God  they  were,  —  children 
of  a  clearer  day,  walking  upon  earth,  keeping  in 
their  hands  the  urns  of  immortality  out  of  which 
there  streamed  a  light  which  reached  to  far  dis 
tant  generations  that  they  might  follow  in  their 
track.  The  Pagan  also  blest  them, 

"Fauci  quos  aequus  amavit 
Juppiter,  aut  ardens  virtus  ad  sidera  tollit." 

March  13. 

And  what  a  motley  patchwork  of  feelings  may 
be  found  in  the  crew  of  their  admirers  behind 
them.  How  many  brows  are  knit,  how  many 
hearts  yearn,  of  those  who  resolve  to  follow,  or 
are  content  to  worship  them  !  Upon  what  meat 
did  these  Caesars  feed,  that  they  have  grown 
so  great  ?  Did  God  or  Man,  time,  or  place,  or 
chance,  sow  the  immortal  seed  ?  And  how  many 
seats  at  the  Table  of  the  Gods  are  yet  vacant  ? 
And  the  storehouses  of  genius  and  goodness  from 


1823]  MEN    OF   GOD  231 

which  each  child  of  the  Universe  may  pluck  out 
his  share — are  they  yet  exhausted  or  locked  up  ? 
And  shall  those  hearts  which  have  throbbed  to 
the  secret  urgency  of  the  spirit,  (perchance  it  was 
the  same  spirit  that  urges  all  existence)  shall  they 
faint  in  the  outset  ?  Onward,  onward,  the  Sun  is 
already  high  over  your  head !  Or  fearest  thou 
because  the  day  is  waxed  late  that  time  shall  lack  ? 
I  tell  thee,  the  race  is  for  Eternity.  The  windows 
of  heaven  are  opened,  and  they  whose  faces  are 
as  the  day,  Seraphim  and  Cherubim,  beckon  to 
the  children  of  Man  and  bid  him  "  Be  bold  !  " 

u  Incipe.  Vivendi  qui  recte  prorogat  horam, 
Rusticus  expectat  dum  defluat  amnis ;  at  ille 
Labitur  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  aevum." 


JOURNAL  XI 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  No.  10 

"  Optimus  ille  fuit  vindex  laedentia  pectus 
Vincula  qui  rupit,  dedoluitque  semel."  l 

[DURING  the  period  which  this  Wide  World 
covers,  perhaps  in  May,  Mrs.  Emerson  and  her 
sons  moved  to  Canterbury,  a  part  of  Roxbury, 
where  they  hired  a  house  in  the  picturesque  re 
gion  near  the  Dedham  Turnpike,  now  a  portion 
of  Franklin  Park.  Waldo's  health  as  reflected 
in  portions  of  this  journal,  especially  the  poem 
"  The  Bell,"  seems  not  to  have  been  good.  There 
is  a  pleasant  letter  about  the  joy  he  felt  in  dwell 
ing  in  the  country,  written  to  one  of  his  class 
mates,  in  Mr.  Cabot's  Memoirs,  vol.  i,  p.  96.] 

DEDICATION 

BOSTON,  March  18,  1823. 
When  God  had  made  the  beasts,  and  prepared 
to  set  over  them  an  intelligent  lord,  He  consid 
ered  what  external  faculty  he  should  add  to  his 
frame,  to  be  the  seat  of  his  superiority.   Then 
He  gave  him  an  articulate  voice.   He  gave  him 
i  From  Ovid's  Remedia  Amoris  (corrected). 


i823]  ELOQUENCE  233 

an  organ  exquisitely  endowed,  which  was  inde 
pendent  of  his  grosser  parts,  —  but  the  minister 
of  his  mind  and  the  interpreter  of  its  thoughts. 
It  was  designed  moreover  as  a  sceptre  of  irre 
sistible  command,  by  whose  force  the  great  and 
wise  should  still  the  tumult  of  the  vulgar  million, 
and  direct  their  blind  energies  to  a  right  oper 
ation.  The  will  of  Heaven  was  done,  and  the 
morning  and  evening  gales  wafted  to  the  High 
est  the  harmonious  accents  of  Man.  But  the  gen 
erations  of  men  lived  and  died,  while  yet  their 
expanding  powers  were  constrained  by  the  iron 
necessities  of  infant  civilization,  and  they  had 
never,  with,  perchance,  a  few  solitary  exceptions, 
ascertained  the  richness  of  this  divine  gift.  Sud 
denly,  in  a  corner  of  Europe,  the  ripe  seeds  of 
Greatness  burst  into  life,  and  covered  the  hills 
and  valleys  of  Greece  with  the  golden  harvest. 
The  new  capacities  and  desires  which  burned  in 
the  human  breast,  demanded  a  correspondent 
perfection  in  speech,  —  to  body  them  forth. 
Then  a  voice  was  heard  in  the  assemblies  of 
men,  which  sounded  like  the  language  of  the 
gods ;  it  rolled  like  music  on  the  ear,  and  filled 
the  mind  with  indefinable  longings ;  it  was  per 
emptory  as  the  word  of  kings ;  or  mournful  as 
a  widow  wailing ;  or  enkindling  as  the  martial 


234  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

clarion.  That  voice  men  called  Eloquence,  and 
he  that  had  it  unlocked  their  hearts,  or  turned 
their  actions  whithersoever  he  would.  Like  sea- 
waves  to  the  shore,  like  mountain  sheep  to  their 
shepherd,  so  men  crowded  around  this  com 
mander  of  their  hearts  to  drink  in  his  accents, 
and  to  mould  their  passions  to  his  will.  The 
contagion  of  new  desires  and  improvements  went 
abroad,  —  and  tribe  after  tribe  of  barbarians  up 
lifted  the  banner  of  Refinement.  This  spirit-stir 
ring  art  was  propagated  also,  and  although  its 
light  sunk  often  in  the  socket,  it  was  never  put 
out.  Time  rolled,  and  successive  ages  rapidly  de 
veloped  the  mixed  and  mighty  drama  of  human 
society,  and  among  the  instruments  employed 
therein,  this  splendid  art  was  often  and  actively 
used.  And  who  that  has  witnessed  its  strength, 
and  opened  every  chamber  of  his  soul  to  the 
matchless  enchanter,  does  not  venerate  it  as  the 
noblest  agent  that  God  works  with  in  human 
hearts  ?  My  Muse,  it  is  the  idol  of  thy  homage, 
and  deserves  the  dedication  of  thine  outpour 
ings. 

TIME 

After  two  moons  I  shall  have  fulfilled  twenty 
years.  Amid  the  fleeting  generations  of  the  human 
race  and  in  the  abyss  of  years  I  lift  my  solitary 


1823]  TIME  235 

voice  unheeded  and  unknown,  and  complain  unto 
inexorable  Time:  —  "Stop,  Destroyer,  over- 
whelmer,  stop  one  brief  moment  this  uncontrol 
lable  career.  Ravisher  of  the  creation,  suffer  me  a 
little  space,  that  I  may  pluck  some  spoils,  as  I 
pass  onward,  to  be  the  fruits  and  monuments 
of  the  scenes  through  which  I  have  travelled." 
Fool !  you  implore  the  deaf  torrent  to  relax  the 
speed  of  its  cataract, 

"  At  ille 
Labitur  et  labetur  in  omne  volubilis  aevum." 

How  many  thousands  before,  have  cast  up  to 
Time  the  same  look  of  fear  and  sorrow  when  they 
have  contemplated  the  terrible  flight  of  Time. 
But  this  infinite  Extinguisher  or  Changer  of  being 
continues  his  supreme  agency  without  exception 
or  interval.  Among  the  undistinguished  myriads 
thus  hurried  on  and  off  the  stage  of  mortal  life, 
a  few,  parted  by  long  periods  asunder,  have  made 
themselves  a  longer  memory  in  this  world,  (and 
perchance  in  worlds  beyond,)  by  pouring  out  all 
their  strength  in  the  service  of  their  fellow  men. 
They  rightly  judged  that  if  a  benevolent  God 
keeps  watch  in  heaven  over  his  family  in  earth, 
the  sight  would  be  grateful  to  Him  of  patient 
study  and  intense  toil  accomplished  by  magnani 
mous  minds  in  behalf  of  human  nature  and  for 


236  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

the  avowed  design  of  its  improvement.  Men 
grope,  they  said,  in  a  night  of  doubts  and  false 
hoods,  for  the  light  of  Truth  is  quenched,  or 
burns  dimly  in  the  midst ;  come,  let  us  restore 
the  flame,  and  feed  it  with  fuel,  until  it  shall  grow 
up  again  in  a  beacon-light  blazing  broadly  and 
gloriously  to  illuminate  the  world.  Then  our  sons 
and  our  sons'  sons  shall  walk  in  the  brilliant  light 
and  shall  pray  God  to  bless  us  long  after  we  have 
gone  down  to  the  chambers  of  death.  That  glori 
ous  company  of  martyrs  who  took  up  the  cross 
of  virtuous  denial  and  gave  their  days  and  nights 
to  study,  meditation  and  prayer,  were  indeed 
"Blessed"  of  Heaven  and  earth.  God,  in  the 
watches  of  the  starry  night,  fed  their  imaginations 
with  secret  influences  of  divinity,  and  swelled  their 
conceptions  with  showers  of  healing  water  from 
the  fountains  of  Paradise.  They  could  not  con 
tain  their  joy  of  these  sweet  and  silent  prompt 
ings, —  this  interview  as  they  deemed  it,  between 
God  and  man, — and  they  mounted  to  a  constant 
elevation  of  thought  which  left  far  below  them 
the  cankering  and  ignoble  pursuits  of  life.  They 
have  left  inscribed  in  their  writings  frequent  and 
bold  appeals  to  the  grandeur  of  the  spirit  which 
lodged  in  their  breasts,  confident  that  what  was 
writ  would  justify  the  truth  of  their  claims.  The 


i823]  TIME  237 

sublimest  bard  of  all  —  he  who  sung  "  Man's 
disobedience,  and  the  fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree 
which  brought  death  into  the  world  and  all  our 
woe  "  —  felt  himself  continually  summoned  and 
inspired  by  a  Spirit  within  him,  and  which  after 
ward,  he  says,  grew  daily  upon  me — to  do  God's 
work  in  the  world  by  sending  forth  strains  which 
after-times  would  not  willingly  let  die.  Not  a 
work  to  be  finished  in  the  heat  of  youth  or  the 
vapours  of  wine;  nor  yet  by  invocation  of  Dame 
Memory  and  her  siren  daughters,  but  by  devout 
prayer  to  that  eternal  Spirit  who  giveth  know 
ledge  ;  hereby  he  hoped  to  release  in  some  great 
measure  the  hearts  of  posterity  from  that  har 
lotry  of  voluptuousness,  whereinto  he  perceived 
with  grief  his  own  age  had  fallen.  A  kindred 
genius  born  for  the  exaltation  of  mankind,  who 
preceded  the  poet,  and  who  fell  (alas  for  human 
ity  ! )  into  a  snare  and  ruin  for  his  integrity,  did 
yet  contribute  a  mighty  impulse  to  the  cause  of 
wisdom  and  truth.  And  he  also  was  no  wise  un 
conscious  of  the  magnitude  of  the  effort  and  the 
power  which  supported  him. 


238  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

THE    BELL1 

I  love  thy  music,  mellow  bell, 
I  love  thine  iron  chime, 
To  life  or  death,  to  heaven  or  hell, 
Which  calls  the  Sons  of  Time. 

Thy  voice  upon  the  deep 
The  homebound  sea-boy  hails, 
It  charms  his  cares  to  sleep, 
It  cheers  him  as  he  sails. 

To  merry  hall  or  house  of  God 
Thy  summons  called  our  sires, 
And  good  men  thought  thy  awful  voice 
Disarmed  the  thunder's  fires. 

And  soon  thy  music,  sad  Death-bell, 
Shall  sing  its  dirge  once  more, 
And  mix  my  requiem  with  the  gale 
Which  sweeps  my  native  shore. 

FREE   THINKING 

It  is  often  alleged,  with  a  great  mass  of  in 
stances  to  support  the  assertion,  that  the  spirit 
of  philosophy  and  a  liberal  mind  is  at  discord 

I  These  youthful  verses,  slightly  changed  for  the  better  by 
Mr.  Emerson  a  few  years  later,  were  printed  in  the  Appendix 
to  the  Centenary  Edition  of  the  Poems. 


i823l  FREE   THINKING  239 

with  the  principles  of  religion,  so  far,  at  least, 
as  to  imply  that  hoary  error  that  religion  is  a 
prejudice  which  statesmen  cherish  in  the  vulgar 
as  a  wholesome  terror.  Those  whom  Genius 
or  Education  have  rescued  from  the  common 
ignorance  have  openly  discarded  the  humble 
creeds  of  men  and  vaunted  their  liberty  :  they 
have  mounted,  it  is  pretended,  to  some  loftier 
prospect  of  man's  dependence  or  independence 
upon  God,  and  have  discovered  that  human 
beings  foolishly  trouble  themselves  by  their 
shallow  and  slavish  fear  of  some  great  Power  in 
the  Universe  who  notices  and  remembers  their 
actions.  For  these  clearer-sighted  intellects  have 
darted  their  glance  into  the  secrets  of  the  other 
world,  and  have  satisfied  themselves,  either 
that  there  is  no  Divinity  at  all,  beyond  the  vain 
names  and  fantastic  superstitions  of  men,  or 
else,  if  there  be  a  sphered  and  potent  Dweller 
in  the  Abyss,  he  is  incurious  and  indifferent  to 
the  petty  changes  of  the  world.  In  this  confi 
dence,  therefore,  these  bold  speculators  cast  off 
the  fetters  of  opinion  and  those  apprehensions 
which  so  cleave  to  our  poor  nature,  and  are 
willing  to  survey  at  ease  the  gorgeous  spectacle 
of  the  Universe,  the  fabric  of  society,  and  the 
closet  of  the  Mind ;  and  to  make  themselves 


240  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

proud  of  this  birthright  of  thoughts  —  this  rare 
chance — which  fell  upon  them,  they  know  not 
how  ;  and  even  to  vaunt  of  their  incomprehen 
sible  immortality,  if  perchance  they  shall  outlast 
the  changes  of  death.  This  perilous  reckless 
ness,  I  find  with  regret  in  many  of  the  intellect 
ual  Guides  of  these  latter  times.  .  .  .  Hume, 
Gibbon,  Robertson,  Franklin,  certain  Scotch 
geniuses  of  the  present  day,  and  the  profligate 
Byron  have  expressed  more  or  less  explicitly 
their  dissent  from  the  popular  faith.  Compos 
ing  in  themselves  a  brilliant  constellation  of 
minds  variously  and  richly  endowed,  they  have 
taken  out  its  welcome  influence  from  the  cause 
of  good  will  to  men,  and  set  it  in  the  opposite 
scale.  Like  the  star  seen  in  the  Apocalypse, 
they  have  cast  a  malign  light  upon  the  earth, 
turning  the  sweet  waters  to  bitter. 

That  there  may  be  a  transient  pleasure  in 
such  free  thinking  I  will  not  deny,  nor  that  pride 
of  opinion  has  its  gratifications.  I  will  not  dis 
pute  that  to  a  man  inclined  so  to  consider  it,  the 
majesty  of  nature  is  a  puppet-show  of  rarest  en 
tertainment,  abounding  with  devices  which  will 
repay  the  toil  of  his  curiosity.  I  will  not  deny 
that  this  disciple  of  Democritus  may  find  the 
human  soul  and  human  society  rich  sources  of 


i823]  FREE   THINKING  241 

merriment ;  but  I  shall  say  that  laughter  in  the 
mouth  of  a  maniac  is,  in  my  judgment,  as  becom 
ing.  Standing,  as  man  stands,  with  the  thunders 
of  evil  fate  suspended  over  him,  bound  on  every 
side  by  the  cords  of  temptation,  and  uncertainty 
sweeping  like  a  dark  cloud  before  his  path, — 
is  it  for  him,  if  his  understanding  is  strong 
enough  to  appreciate  this  condition,  to  acknow 
ledge  his  melancholy  lot  by  unseasonable  mirth  ? 
A  sober  firmness  on  his  brow,  and  purity  in  his 
heart,  is  the  best  armour  he  can  wear.  I  believe 
nothing  is  more  ungrounded  than  the  assertion, 
that  scepticism  is,  in  any  manner,  the  natural 
fruit  of  a  superior  understanding.  The  legitimate 
fruits  of  a  master  spirit  are  a  dearer  love  to  vir 
tue,  and  an  ardent  and  thrilling  desire  to  burst 
the  bonds  of  the  flesh  and  begin  a  perfecter  ex 
istence.  In  those  moments  which  every  wise 
man  counts  the  best  of  his  life  —  who  hath  not 
been  smitten,  with  a  burning  curiosity,  to  rend 
asunder  the  veil  of  mortality,  and  gaze,  with 
pious  violence,  upon  the  unutterable  glories  be 
yond?  The  names  which  I  mentioned  as  apos 
tate  weigh  nothing  against  the  greater  names  of 
Bacon,  Milton,  Newton,  and  the  like,  whose 
hearts  cleaved  to  the  divine  revelations  as  the 
pledge  of  their  resurrection  to  eternity.  Nor  can 


242  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

I  conceive  of  any  man  of  sense  reading  the  chap 
ter  of  Milton  .  .  .  [Reason  of  Church  Govern 
ment  urged  against  Prelaty,  Book  2,  c.  i] 
without  his  heart  warming  to  the  touch  of  noble 
sentiments;  and  his  faith  in  God  and  in  the 
eternity  of  virtue  and  of  truth  being  steadfastly 
confirmed.  Nothing  of  human  composition  is  so 
akin  to  inspiration. 


Sunday  Evening,  March  23,  1823. 
.  .  .  One  youth  among  the  multitudes  of 
mankind,  one  grain  of  sand  on  the  seashore,  un 
known  in  the  midst  of  my  contemporaries,  I  am 
hastening  to  put  on  the  manly  robe.  From  child 
hood  the  names  of  the  great  have  ever  resounded 
in  my  ear,  and  it  is  impossible  that  I  should  be 
indifferent  to  the  rank  which  I  must  take  in  the 
innumerable  assembly  of  men,  or  that  I  should 
shut  my  eyes  upon  the  huge  interval  which  sep 
arates  me  from  the  minds  which  I  am  wont  to 
venerate.  Every  young  man  is  prone  to  be  mis 
led  by  the  suggestions  of  his  own  ill-founded 
ambition,  which  he  mistakes  for  the  promptings 
of  a  secret  Genius.  ...  It  is  not  Time,  nor 
Fate,  nor  the  World,  that  is  half  so  much  his 
foe  as  the  demon  Indolence  within  him.  A  man's 


1823]        SELF-EXAMINATION          243 

enemies  are  those  of  his  own  household.  But  if 
a  man  shall  diligently  consider  what  it  is  which 
most  forcibly  impedes  the  natural  greatness  of 
his  mind,  he  will  assuredly  find  that  slothful, 
sensual  indulgence  is  the  real  unbroken  barrier, 
and  that  when  he  has  overleaped  this,  God  has 
set  no  bounds  to  his  progress.  The  maxim  is 
true  to  an  indefinite  extent,  "  Faber  quisque  for- 
tunae  suae."  We  boast  of  our  free  agency.  What 
is  this  but  to  say,  God  has  put  into  our  hands 
the  elements  of  our  character,  the  iron  and  the 
brass,  the  silver  and  the  gold,  to  choose  and  to 
fashion  them  as  we  will.  But  we  are  afraid  of  the 
toil,  we  bury  them  in  a  napkin,  instead  of  mould 
ing  them  into  rich  and  enduring  vessels.  This 
view  is  by  far  the  most  animating  to  exertion. 
It  speaks  life  and  courage  to  the  soul.  Mistrust 
no  more  your  ability,  the  rivalry  of  others,  or 
the  final  event.  Make  speed  to  plan, to  execute, 
to  fulfil;  forfeit  not  one  moment  more  in  the 
dalliance  of  sloth  ;  for  the  work  is  vast,  the  time 
is  short,  and  opportunity  is  a  headlong  thing 
which  tarries  for  no  man's  necessities.  Habits 
of  labour  are  paths  to  heaven.  —  It  commands 
no  outward  austerities.  Do  not  put  ashes  on 
your  head,  nor  sackcloth  on  your  loins,  nor  a 
belt  of  iron  for  your  girdle.  But  mortify  the  mind, 


244  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

put  on  humility  and  temperance,  for  ashes,  and 
bind  about  the  soul  as  with  iron.  The  soul  is  a 
fertile  soil,  which  will  grow  rank  and  to  waste, 
if  left  to  itself.  If  you  wish,  therefore,  to  see  it 
bud  out  abundantly  and  bring  an  harvest  richer 
an  hundred  and  a  thousand  fold,  bind  it,  bind  it 
with  the  restraint  of  cultivation. 

March  26. 

It  is  overgrown  with  tares  and  poisons.  Suffer 
no  longer  this  noisesome  barrenness.  Harrow  it 
up  with  thoughts.  Fill  it  with  the  joys  and  whole 
some  apprehensions  of  a  reasonable  being,  in 
stead  of  the  indifference  of  a  brute. 

•         ••••••• 

March  28. 

These  are  the  clamours  with  which  conscience 
pursues  and  upbraids  me — happy  if  they  were 
undeserved  —  happiest  could  they  accomplish 
their  end !  But  the  inscrutable  future  comes  down 
in  darkness  and  finds  us  in  the  thrall  of  the  same 
old  enemies,  with  all  our  hopes  and  full-blown 
intentions  thick  on  our  heads.  For  your  life, 
then,  for  your  life !  crawl  on  a  few  steps  farther 
in  the  next  twelvemonth! 


1 823]  PASTORAL  245 

A    SHOUT    TO    THE    SHEPHERDS 

Freshly,  gaily,  the  rivulet  flows 

Beside  its  emerald  bank, 

Each  silver  bubble  in  beauty  goes 

Adown  the  stream  and  briefly  glows 

Till  it  reach  the  broad  flags  and  the  alders  dank. 

Shepherds,  who  love  the  lay 
Of  untaught  bards  in  oaken  shades, 
Bright-eyed  Apollos  of  the  forest  glades, 

Hither,  hither,  turn  your  way. 
Come  to  the  grassy  border  of  the  brook, 
Here,  where  the  ragged  hawthorn  dips 
His  prickly  buds  of  perfume  in  the  wave, 
And  thence  again  a  costly  fragrance  sips, 
Drinking  with  each  balmy  floweret's  lips 
Pure  from  the  Naiad's  welling:  urn, 

O  * 

While  overhead  the  embowering  elms 
Bow  their  broad  branches  and  keep  out  the  day. 
Hither,  hither,  turn  your  way. 

[AMERICA  A  FIELD  FOR  WORK] 

April  8,  1823. 

Powerful  and  concentrated  motive  ...  is 
necessary  to  a  man,  who  would  be  great ;  and 
young  men  whose  hearts  burn  with  the  desire  of 
distinction  may  complain  perhaps  that  the  paths 
in  which  a  man  may  be  usefully  illustrious  are 


246  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

already  taken  up,  and  that  they  have  fallen  in 
too  late  an  age  to  be  benefactors  of  mankind. 
Truly  I  wish  it  were  so.  ... 

Alas  !  The  wildest  dreams  of  poetry  have 
uttered  no  such  thing.  There  is  a  huge  and  dis 
proportionate  abundance  of  evil  on  earth.  In 
deed  the  good  that  is  here  is  but  a  little  island 
of  light  amidst  the  unbounded  ocean.  What 
mind  therefore  (that  is  stirred  by  ardent  feelings) 
looks  over  the  great  desart  of  human  life  with 
out  fervently  resolving  to  embark  in  the  cause 
of  God  and  man,  and  without  rinding  puissant 
motives  calling  out  the  strength  of  every  root 
and  fibre  of  his  soul  ?  But  he  finds  the  field  too 
spacious  and  the  motive  not  enough  concen 
trated.  .  .  .  Let  the  young  American  withdraw 
his  eyes  from  all  but  his  own  country,  and  try 
if  he  can  find  employment  there.  .  .  .  Separated 
from  the  contamination  which  infects  all  other 
civilized  lands,  this  country  has  always  boasted 
a  great  comparative  purity.  At  the  same  time, 
from  obvious  causes,  it  has  leaped  at  once  from 
infancy  to  manhood;  has  covered,  and  is  cover 
ing,  millions  of  square  miles  with  a  hardy  and 
enterprizing  population.  The  free  institutions 
which  prevail  here,  and  here  alone,  have  at 
tracted  to  this  country  the  eyes  of  the  world.  In 


i823]      AMERICA   THE   FIELD        247 

this  age  the  despots  of  Europe*1  are  engaged  in 
the  common  cause  of  tightening  the  bonds  of 
monarchy  about  the  thriving  liberties  and  laws 
of  men  ;  and  the  unprivileged  orders,  the  bulk 
of  human  society,  gasping  for  breath  beneath 
their  chains,  and  darting  impatient  glances  to 
wards  the  free  constitution  of  other  countries. 
To  America,  therefore,  monarchs  look  with  ap 
prehension,  and  the  people  with  hope.  But  the 
vast  rapidity  with  which  the  desarts  and  forests 
of  the  interior  of  this  country  are  peopled  have 
led  patriots  to  fear  lest  the  nation  grow  too  fast 
for  its  virtue  and  its  peace.  In  the  raw  multi 
tudes  who  lead  the  front  of  emigration,  men  of 
respectability  in  mind  and  morals  are  rarely 
found  —  it  is  well  known.  The  pioneers  are 
commonly  the  off-scouring  of  civilized  society, 
who  have  been  led  to  embark  in  these  enter- 
prizes  by  the  consciousness  of  ruined  fortunes  or 
ruined  character,  or  perchance  a  desire  for  that 
greater  license  which  belongs  to  a  new  and 
unsettled  community.  These  men  and  their 
descendants  compose  the  western  frontier  popu 
lation  of  the  United  States  and  are  rapidly  ex 
panding  themselves.  At  this  day,  the  axe  is  laid 
to  the  root  of  the  forest;  the  Indian  is  driven 
from  his  hut,  and  the  bison  from  the  plains;  — 


248  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

in  the  bosom  of  mountains  where  white  men 
never  trod,  already  the  voice  of  nations  begins 
to  be  heard — haply  heard  in  ominous  and  evil 
accents.  Good  men  desire,  and  the  great  cause 
of  human  nature  demands  that  this  abundant 
and  overflowing  richness  wherewith  God  has 
blessed  this  country  be  not  misapplied  and  made 
a  curse  of;  that  this  new  storehouse  of  nations 
shall  never  pour  out  upon  the  world  an  ac 
cursed  tribe  of  barbarous  robbers.  Now  the 
danger  is  very  great  that  the  Machine  of  Gov 
ernment  acting  upon  this  territory  at  so  great 
distance  will  wax  feeble,  or  meet  with  resistance, 
and  that  the  oracles  of  moral  law  and  intellect 
ual  wisdom,  in  the  midst  of  an  ignorant  and 
licentious  people,  will  speak  faintly  and  indis 
tinctly.  Human  foresight  can  set  no  bounds  to 
the  ill  consequences  of  such  a  calamity,  if  it  is 
not  reasonably  averted.  And,  on  the  contrary, 
if  the  senates  that  shall  meet  hereafter  in  those 
wilds  shall  be  made  to  speak  a  voice  of  wisdom 
and  virtue,  the  reformation  of  the  world  would 
be  to  be  expected  from  America.  How  to  effect 
the  check  proposed  is  an  object  of  momentous 
importance.  And  in  view  of  an  object  of  such 
magnitude,  I  know  not  who  he  is,  that  can  com 
plain  that  motive  is  lacking  in  this  latter  age, 
whereby  men  should  become  great.  .  .  . 


i823]  COMPENSATION  149 


COMPENSATION 


The  balancing  and  adjustment  of  human  plea 
sures,  privileges  and  graces,  so  that  no  man's 
share  shall  outrun  all  competition,  nor  be  dimin 
ished  to  an  extreme  poverty,  is  so  obvious  in  the 
world,  as  to  be  a  daily  topic  of  conversation. 
And  the  system  of  compensations  takes  place  as 
much  in  the  difference  of  good,  as  in  the  appor 
tioning  of  evil  and  good.  Thus  knowledge  is  a 
good;  but  it  must  be  acquired  in  different  ways, 
and  there  is  no  single  way  which  combines  the 
advantages  of  all  the  others.  The  advantages 
which  one  man  enjoys  by  access  to  unusual 
sources  of  improvement  do,  by  some  necessity, 
deprive  him  of  admittance  to  other  sources 
equally  rare  and  rich.  Is  he  opulent,  and  com 
mands  the  privileges  of  libraries  and  schools  ?  he 
wants  that  vigour  and  eagerness  to  use  them 
which  Necessity  gives.  Is  he  a  traveller  and  borne 
by  the  winds  to  every  foreign  clime,  and  does  he 
transact  affairs  amidst  the  famous  ruins  of  each 
continent?  —  then  his  taste  has  been  unculti 
vated  and  he  views  them  all  with  indifference. 
Has  he  wit  and  industry  sufficient  to  grasp  all 
knowledge  ?  —  poverty  shuts  up  with  iron  bars 
every  avenue  to  him.  Men  are  alike  only  in 


250  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

infancy ;  afterwards  every  man  takes  a  path  which 
leads  out  from  the  common  centre,  and  every 
step  separates  him  further  from  all  the  rest.  .  .  . 

MORAL    OBLIGATION 

To  what  purpose  is  this  gorgeous  firmament 
displayed,  in  such  rich  and  inimitable  colours, 
with  such  glorious  variety  ?  What  is  this  curtain 
of  darkness  which  is  hung  abroad,  unaltered  in 
its  regularity,  unrivalled  in  its  grandeur  ?  I  stand 
in  a  Paradise.  And  the  pleasant  winds  of  heaven 
fan  me  as  they  move,  and  scatter  health  and 
odours  through  all  their  outgoings.  Custom  has 
made  familiar  to  me  the  marvels  of  the  world; 
nevertheless  its  mighty  magnificence  will  some 
times  break  upon  the  sense  in  overpowering 
sensations,  and  fill  the  mind  with  unspeakable 
conceptions  of  the  Cause  and  Design,  and  with 
awful  shame  for  its  own  ingratitude.  But  men 
are  much  more  apt  to  let  their  thoughts  rest  in 
the  works,  to  behold  Nature  without  anxiety  to 
see  Nature's  God ;  it  is  Custom,  the  tyranness 
of  fools,  that  suffers  them  to  gaze  vacantly  upon 
this  fair  and  noble  miracle,  this  sublime  and  ex 
quisite  world,  without  exacting  an  unbounded 
homage  to  the  Author  of  it  all.  But  perchance 


i823]        MORAL   OBLIGATION         251 

Custom  is  right,  and  I  owe  no  homage ;  stand 
forth  now  and  shew,  if  thou  canst,  some  grounds 
for  this  superlative  claim  upon  my  affections  and 
life.  For,  if  you  say  well,  then  I  am  checked  in 
that  liberty  which  I  have  exercised  and  (in  the 
full  view  of  my  whole  hopes)  I  shall  be  free  to 
do  right,  but  I  shall  no  longer  be  free  to  do  wrong. 
For  he  that  is  bid  to  go  one  way,  and  a  sword 
is  pointed  to  his  breast,  is  not  free  to  go  another. 
Explain  to  me,  then,  my  obligations,  for  else  I 
cannot  consent  to  resign  that  free  and  entire 
license  to  go  right  or  to  go  wrong  with  which  I 
hitherto  believed  I  walked  in  the  world's  ways. 
(Infra,  quote  6,  7,  8  verses,  xxxv  Job.) l 

First,  then,  you  are  not  your  own,  but  belong 
to  another  by  the  right  of  Creation.  This  claim 
is  the  most  simple,  perfect  and  absolute  of  all 
claims.  Nothing  is  akin  to  it  in  the  universe  ;  we 
cannot  reason  about  it  from  analogy  ;  but  when 
we  think  of  it,  it  is  the  most  reasonable  and  sat 
isfactory  of  all  claims.  God  animated  a  clod  with 

I  "If  thou  sinnest,  what  doest  thou  against  him  ?  or  if  thy 
transgressions  be  multiplied,  what  doest  thou  unto  him  ? 

"If  thou  be  righteous,  what  givest  thou  him,  or  what  re- 
ceiveth  he  of  thine  hand  ? 

"  Thy  wickedness  may  hurt  a  man  as  thou  art  ;  and  thy 
righteousness  may  profit  the  son  of  man." 


252  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

life  in  a  corner  of  his  dominions ;  by  his  own 
power  he  first  orders  it  to  be, —  to  hold  a  passive 
existence  as  a  clod,  out  of  nothing;  then,  he 
breathes  into  it  life — and  thus  from  an  imparting 
of  Omnific  Virtue,  a  thing  is,  which  was  not; 
having  come  from  himself,  it  is  a  part  of  himself; 
it  takes  the  tone  of  existence  from  him  alone ; 
can  aught  be  said  to  be  so  absolutely,  inevitably, 
unchangeably  God's?1  .  .  . 

If  we  conceive  the  Divine  Being  inflicting  pain 
upon  these  creatures,  we  cannot  satisfy  ourselves 
that  even  persecution  authorises  their  rebellion 
against  his  will.  For,  he  has  as  close  and  near  an 
interest  in  what  he  makes  from  himself  as  that 
which  he  makes  has  for  itself;  and  for  him  to 
pain  such  a  creature  is  to  pain  himself.  .  .  . 
We  cannot  reason  here  from  analogy,  for  men 
are  not  creators.  .  .  .  If  a  father  abuses  his  child, 
forgets  the  ties  of  nature,  and  encroaches  upon 
his  human  rights  or  seeks  his  life — the  son  is 
not  left  without  resource —  he  can  renounce  those 
mutual  claims  which  his  sire  has  refused  to  re- 

I  "A  man  ...  is  there  to  speak  for  truth;  but  who  is  he  ? 
Some  clod  the  truth  has  snatched  from  the  ground  and  with 
fire  has  fashioned  to  a  momentary  man.  Without  the  truth  he 
is  a  clod  again."  —  "The  Sovereignty  of  Ethics,"  Lectures 
and  Biographical  Sketches  y  p.  1 94. 


i823]        MORAL   OBLIGATION         253 

spect,  and  divesting  himself  of  all  other  support 
can  sustain  himself  on  the  simple  grounds  of 
natural  rights.  .  .  .  But  the  case  is  radically 
different  with  the  creature  of  God,  and  with  a 
son  of  man.  For  the  former  has  no  ultimate  and 
primal  rights  to  throw  himself  back  upon,  when 
he  is  induced  to  renounce  his  submission  to  God ; 
for  God  is  his  Maker  and  made  those  very  rights 
which  he  possesses.  There  is  no  other  being  in 
the  abysses  of  existence  who  might  erect  a  hos 
tile  standard  against  the  Throne  of  the  Deity 
that  afflicts  him,  about  which  the  disaffected 
might  rally  and  hope.  There  is  no  other  sepa 
rate,  ultimate  resource,  for  God  is  within  him, 
God  about  him,  he  is  a  part  of  God  himself. 
Nothing  therefore  can  destroy,  nothing  abridge, 
the  claim  of  obedience  which  a  Creator  advances 
upon  his  creatures.  Hence,  the  first  ground  of 
moral  obligation  is  this;  that  the  Being  who 
ordained  it  is  the  Source,  the  Support  and  the 
Principle  of  our  existence,  and  it  were  a  kind  of 
denying  our  Nature  to  reject  that  which  is 
agreeable  to  him. 

.  .  .  There  is  no  waste,  no  period  to  the 
Moral  universe.  An  antiquity  that  is  without 
beginning,  and  a  futurity  that  is  without  end,  is 
its  history.  A  principle  of  life  and  truth  in  itself 


254  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

which  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  as  liable 
to  death  or  suspension,  or  as  less  than  infinite  in 
the  extent  of  its  rule,  binding  God  and  man 
in  its  irreversible  decree,  —  is  coexistent  with 
Deity.  .  .  . 

[DRAMATIC  FRAGMENT] 

Cawba.        When  will  the  plague  depart  ?  Will  all  my 
sons 

Snuff  death  from  the  wild  wind,  and  go  away 

To  the  dim  land  of  spirits  o'er  the  hills  ? 
Seer.  The  bisons  fed  in  safety  in  the  valley 

Until  thy  sire  set  up  his  wigwam  here; 

Now  they  are  gone  to  see  the  setting  sun. 

Thy  people  dwelt  in  safety  in  this  land, 

But  they  must  flee  to  see  the  setting  sun. 

Come  let  them  now  dig  down  the  tree  of 
peace, 

Cut    reeds    from    rivers    for   their    poisoned 
shafts, 

Pluck   up   keen    flintstones    for  their  toma 
hawks, 

And  battle  with  the  thunder  gods  of  heaven. 
Hear  the  bald  eagle  scream  amid  the  clouds ; 

His    voice    betokens    blood,   his    eye    glares 
bright 

O'er  the  great  Waters  to  the  misty  isles. 

Out  of  the  clouds  Big  Warriors  shall  come 

In  swift  canoes  that  fly  on  shining  wings ;  — 


i823]      DRAMATIC    FRAGMENT       255 

I  see  them  leap  like  giants  on  thy  shore 
With  thunder  in  their  hands,  and  thy  Great 

Spirit 

Is  frighted  at  their  Gods,  and  leaves  his  skies. 
I  tell  thee,  Chieftain,  that  the  coward  gods 
Fear  the  white  tribe  that  ride  across  the  deep. 
And  hide  their  shamed  heads.  Ah,  Red  Men 

are  few ; 

They  are  few  and  feeble,  and  the  eagle  tribes 
Must  crumble  fast  away  and  fall  in  pieces. 
Mas.  You  sing  the  deathsong  of  my  tribe.    Ah 

me ! 

Now  by  my  father's  soul,  old  Cawba,  say 
Why  are  the  tall  warriors  weak  ?  and  why 

does  God 

Suffer  the  wolves  to  lap  his  children's  blood? 

Does  the  Great  Spirit  betray,  or  does  he  fear  ? 

Seer.  Eagle  !    He  loves  his  children ;  feeds  them 

when 
They  famish,   saves    them    in    the   winter's 

storm, 

And  sends  the  pleasant  summer  full  of  joy 
Fattening  the  forest  families  —  for  them. 
Then  see  thou  blame  Him  not,  for  He  is 

good. 
Mas.  Sometimes  he  darts  his  thunder  at  my  sons ; 

Can  he  not  kill  my  enemies  ? 

Seer.  There  are  gods 

Besides  thy  God,  as  other  tribes  have  chiefs 


256  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Besides  thy  own.   Eagle,  thy  God  is  weak, 
Waxing  and  waning  like  yon  horned  moon ; 
The  white  man's  God,  eternal  as  the  sun. 
Mas,  Out  on  your  God  !  I  '11  be  my  people's  god. 

Since  the  Great  Spirit  is  afraid  to  fight, 
They  shall  not  lack  an   arm  strong  as  his 

arm. 
And  when  the  white  canoes  come  o'er  the 

sea, 

Oh  may  their  God  with  me  wrestle  for  life  ! 
Then  I  will  fall  upon  them  like  the  night, 
And  sing  my  war-song  in  their  ears,  and  kill, 
And  stain  the  water-side  with  crimson  foam. 
And  if  my  warriors  fall,  and  if  the  foe 
Prevail  —  then  I  will  die,  as  the  Eagle  Chief 
Should  die — in  fight,  last  of  a  noble  tribe, 
And  white  men's  dying  groans  shall  lull  my 

last  sleep. 

[MORALS,  continued^ 

June  i,  1823. 

Great  force  is  given  to  morals  if  you  consider 
the  object  and  integrity  they  contribute  to  human 
life.  They  are  strong ;  if  they  were  weak,  and  but 
a  faint  hint,  or  indeed  no  suggestion  at  all,  of 
this  law  were  imparted  to  the  mind,  life,  instead 
of  being  a  noble  and  harmonious  order,  would 
immediately  become  a  wild  and  terrible  dream. 


1823]  MORALS  257 

Men  would  ask  one  of  another  the  cause  and 
meaning  of  the  unexplained  enigma.  To  what 
purpose  stand  we  here  ?  Shall  a  tremendous  event 
shut  up  this  troubled  scene?  These  tempestuous 
passions  of  ours — come,  let  us  gratify  them, 
though  we  slay  each  other  and  ourselves  also,  to 
avoid  some  darker  calamity  that  uncertain  ex 
istence  may  be  storing  for  us.  A  Chaos  more 
frightful  than  that  of  nature  —  the  Chaos  of 
thought  —  would  make  life  an  insupportable 
curse.  The  intelligent  universe  would  be  de 
prived  of  the  salutary  restraint  that  supports  and 
prolongs  its  awful  beauty.  Rend  away  the  dark 
ness,  and  restore  to  man  the  knowledge  of  this 
principle,  and  you  have  lit  the  sun  over  the 
world  and  solved  the  riddle  of  life.  Now  man 
lives  for  a  purpose.  Hitherto  was  no  object  upon 
which  to  concentrate  his  various  powers.  Now 
happiness  is  his  being's  end  and  aim.  One  course 
leads  to  it,  and  the  prize  is  secure.  The  distant 
and  dark  intimation  of  such  an  end,  which,  in  case 
of  total  previous  privation,  we  should  have  hailed 
with  rapture  and  have  pursued  with  unconquer 
able  diligence,  is  made  to  us  a  rich  and  majestic 
revelation ;  and  can  the  zeal  with  which  we  con 
form  to  its  edicts  ever  become  intemperate? 
Never  in  the  eye  of  God ;  never  in  the  eye  of 


258  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Seraphim  and  Cherubim ;  but  often  ill-timed  and 
intemperate,  it  would  seem,  in  the  eye  of  men. 
So  unerring,  perhaps,  and  so  judicious  is  human 
sagacity  that  it  is  ever  loth  to  enter  zealously 
into  this  subject;  afraid,  it  would  seem,  of  jeop 
ardizing  some  whit  the  stately  dignity  of  human 
nature  by  falling  into  a  momentary  enthusiasm 
in  this  inquiry.  Out  of  this  world,  all  the  active 
intelligences  that  move  in  the  heavens  are  ab 
sorbed  in  these  views,  are  incessantly  pursuing 
on  the  fiery  wing  of  Contemplation  the  wonders 
of  God's  Providence  into  the  abyss  of  his  works. 
Mind,  which  is  the  end  and  aim  of  all  the  Di 
vine  Operations,  feeds  with  unsated  appetite 
upon  moral  and  material  Nature,  that  is,  upon 
the  order  of  things  which  He  has  appointed.  It 
is  perpetually  growing  wiser  and  mightier  by 
digesting  this  immortal  food  ;  and,  even  in  our 
feeble  conceptions  of  the  heavenly  hosts,  we  seek 
to  fill  up  the  painful  chasm  that  divides  God  from 
his  humble  creatures  upon  earth  by  a  magnifi 
cent  series  of  godlike  intellects.  Worlds  like  ours 
were  the  cradle  of  their  infancy.  Their  minds,  like 
ours,  learned  the  rudiments  of  thought  from  the 
material  creation.  There  ripened  and  godlike 
understandings  revere  the  law  and  study  the 
foundation  principles  of  Morals.  But  man,  in 


1823]  TRADE  259 

his  nook  of  earth,  knits  his  brow  at  the  name 
of  his  Maker,  and  gravely  apprehends  that  the 
discussion  of  his  laws  may  lead  to  fanaticism. 
It  seems  to  me  ardour  and  enthusiasm  are  the 
appropriate  feelings  which  belong  to  things  of 
Eternity  and  make  the  habits  of  Angels ;  but 
Man  waxes  cold  and  slow  at  the  word;  and  fears 
to  commit  himself  upon  these  topics  in  the  pre 
sence  of  his  fellow  worms. 

June  iy  1823. 

But  this  waywardness,  in  the  end,  grows  to 
presumption,  and  there  is  a  time  when  slighted 
opportunity  ceases  to  return. 

"  Praise  is  the  salt  that  seasons  right  for  man 
And  whets  the  appetite  for  moral  good." 

"  Dat  veniam  corvis,  vexat  censura  columbas." 
TRADE 

Men  so  universally  draw  their  characters  after 
the  pattern  of  their  times  that  great  regard  is  due 
to  any  who,  spurning  the  character  and  humour 
of  an  ignoble  age,  act  upon  principles  not  ap 
prehended  by  the  vulgar.  Upon  this  ground  we 
claim  veneration  for  the  forefathers  of  New  Eng 
land,  who  were  an  association  of  men  that  for 
once  in  the  history  of  the  world  forgot  to  found 


260  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

their  plans  exclusively  upon  the  interests  of  trade, 
and  preferred  to  trade  the  finer  interests  of  reli 
gion  and  literature.  Trade  was  always  in  the  world, 
and  indeed,  to  judge  hastily,  we  might  well  deem 
trade  to  have  been  the  purpose  for  which  the 
world  was  created.  It  is  the  cause,  the  support 
and  the  object  of  all  government.  Without  it, 
men  would  roam  the  wilderness  alone,  and  never 
meet  in  the  kind  conventions  of  social  life.  Who 
is  he  that  causes  this  busy  stir,  this  mighty  and 
laborious  accommodation  of  the  world  to  men's 
wants  ?  Who  is  he  that  plants  care  like  a  canker 
at  men's  hearts,  and  furrows  their  brows  with 
thrifty  calculations  ?  that  makes  money  for  his 
instrument,  and  therewith  sets  men's  passions  in 
ferment  and  their  faculties  in  action,  unites  them 
together  in  the  clamorous  streets,  or  arrays  them 
against  each  other  in  war  ?  It  is  Trade,  —  Trade 
which  is  the  mover  of  the  nations,  and  the  pillar 
whereon  the  fortunes  of  life  hang.  All  else  is 
subordinate.  Tear  down,  if  you  will,  the  temples 
of  Religion,  the  museums  of  Art,  the  laborato 
ries  of  Science,  the  libraries  of  Learning — and 
the  regret  excited  among  mankind  would  be  cold, 
alas  !  and  faint ;  —  a  few  would  be  found,  a  few 
enthusiasts  in  secret  places  to  mourn  over  their 
ruins  ;  — but  destroy  the  temples  of  Trade,  your 


i823]  TRADE  261 

stores,  your  wharves  and  your  floating  castles  on 
the  deep;  restore  to  the  earth  the  silver  and  the 
gold  which  was  dug  out  thence  to  serve  his  pur 
poses; —  and  you  shall  hear  an  outcry  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  Society  would  stand  still,  and 
men  return  howling  to  forests  and  caves  which 
would  now  be  the  grave,  as  [they  were]  once  the 
cradle,  of  the  human  race.  This  partial  and  in 
ordinate  success  by  which  this  institution  of  men 
wears  the  crown  over  all  others  is  necessary ;  for 
the  prosperity  of  trade  is  built  upon  desires  and 
necessities  which  nourish  no  distinction  among 
men ;  which  all, —  the  high  and  humble,  the  weak 
and  strong,  can  feel,  and  which  must  first  be  an 
swered,  before  the  imprisonment  of  the  mind  can 
be  broken  and  the  noble  and  delicate  thoughts  can 
issue  out,  from  which  Art  and  Literature  spring. 
The  most  enthusiastic  philosopher  requires  to 
be  fed  and  clothed  before  he  begins  his  analysis 
of  nature,  and  scandal  has  called  poetry,  taste, 
imagination  the  overflowing  phantasms  of  a  high- 
fed  animal.  True,  Archimedes  forgot  for  a  mo 
ment,  in  the  Sicilian  capital,  the  rigid  laws  of  de 
corum  when  he  found  the  theory  of  the  tides,  and 
fiery  poets  have  lived  who  defied  the  vile  neces 
sities  of  the  flesh  and  wrote  obstinately  on,  until 
they  starved ;  but  these  are  instances  rare  and 


262  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

extraordinary  and  are  only  quoted  in  evidence 
as  miracles  by  which  the  reality  of  these  lower 
revelations  was  to  be  attested.  And,  in  despite 
of  them  all,  the  scholar  is  quickly  taught  the 
unwelcome  conviction,  that  his  studies  are  the 
later  luxuries,  which  the  world  can  easily  forego ; 
whilst  it  cannot  spare  its  meat  and  its  drink  and 
the  interests  of  traffic,  which  he  holds  in  con 
tempt. 

The  justice  and  propriety  of  this  early  prefer 
ence  to  trade  we  are  not  so  blind  as  to  doubt ; 
we  only  lament  the  poverty  of  our  nature  which 
makes  us  heirs  to  such  inconveniences.  But  we 
complain  that  here  we  find  new  instances  of  the 
imperfection  of  our  mind,  which  —  by  that  uni 
versal  misapprehension  of  the  means  for  the  end 
—  after  the  wants  are  gratified,  which  trade  pro 
posed  to  gratify,  continues  to  pursue  with  un 
slaked  appetite  these  concerns  which  have  ceased 
to  be  necessary,  to  the  exclusion  of  those  nobler 
pursuits  which  bring  honour  and  greatness  upon 
our  race.  This  mistake  is  a  sore  evil  under  the 
sun,  and  under  some  broad  form  or  other  offends 
us  every  day.  The  Merchant  said  in  his  heart, 
I  will  amass  treasure  and  then  buy  me  these  plea 
sures  of  refinement  and  science  ;  when  I  am  free 
from  the  fear  of  want,  I  will  call  the  Muses  from 


1 823]  TRADE  263 

Helicon  and  sacrifice  at  their  altars.  And  he 
unfurled  his  canvas  on  the  sea,  and  sent  men  on 
his  errands  of  gain  to  all  corners  of  the  earth. 
And  his  purpose  seemed  good  in  the  eye  of  the 
Genii  of  the  air  and  the  Mermaids  of  the  deep. 
His  white  sails  were  swelled  with  favourable 
winds,  and  the  Mermaids  sung  pleasantly  to  his 
mariners  to  cheer  them  on  their  way.  Ores  of 
gold  and  silver,  mines  of  diamond  and  shores 
of  pearl,  spice  groves  of  the  East  and  plantations 
of  the  West  were  ransacked  to  heap  the  amount 
of  his  wealth ;  but  when  his  will  was  done  and 
the  progress  of  years  added  new  accumulations 
to  his  wealth,  —  in  the  abundance  of  his  schemes 
he  forgot  his  youthful  promises  for  the  applica 
tion  of  his  wealth,  he  forgot  to  invoke  the  Muses 
and  call  the  Arts  and  Philosophy  to  adorn  his 
dwelling.  Alas  !  he  was  fast  yoked  into  the  thral 
dom  of  Care, —  painfully  gathering  riches  for 
another  to  enjoy,  and  niggardly  denying  him 
self  the  best  fruits  of  his  toil.  This  history  of 
the  individual  is  the  history  of  the  nation.  Thou 
sands  wished  well  to  the  scanty,  godlike  band 
who  kindled  and  bore  the  torch  of  improvement 
through  the  darkness  of  the  world  and  were  well 
nigh  persuaded  to  abandon  their  own  sordid  pur 
suits  and  ally  themselves  to  their  cause.  Nations 


264  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

ripened  into  civilization  and  crowded  with  an 
enlarging  population  the  narrow  confines  God 
gave  them  to  possess,  but  it  was  Trade  who  sent 
out  the  superfluous  numbers  in  colonies  to  peo 
ple  distant  territories.  Phoenicia,  Greece  and 
Rome,  vaunting  the  liberality  of  their  policy, 
had  no  loftier  motive  than  the  extension  of  their 
taxes  and  their  trade. 

A  reading  selected  from  29  and  30  chapters 
of  Job,  admits  of  great  eloquence.  Note  the 
pauses  after  "  now"  which  occur  thrice. 


TEMPTATION 

There  is  an  important  view,  striking  the  very 
foundation  of  moral  accountability,  which  I  shall 
attempt  to  present.  I  cannot  blame,  for  I  do  not 
feel,  a  contradiction  to  Divine  Justice  in  the 
alarming  result  of  God's  experiment  on  earth. 
Men  have  thought,  that  if  a  fair  and  equal  elec 
tion  of  good  and  ill  and  their  respective  rewards 
be  offered  to  Man,  it  cannot  be  that  so  huge  a 
majority  of  wrong-doers  should  burden  the  earth. 
Sin,  they  say,  is  too  strong  —  it  hath  too  many 
pleasures  and  too  many  apologies  —  for  our  in 
tegrity.  God  should  not  have  made  it  so  difficult 


i8z3]  EPILOGUE  265 

— if  purity  be  necessary  to  my  salvation  —  to 
be  pure.  I  answer,  If  Temptation  were  tenfold 
stronger  than  it  is,  I  see  not,  with  what  face  this 
poor  palliation  of  guilt  could  be  advanced.  For 
all  the  most  clamorous  invitations  that  Vice  ever 
offered,  the  moment  they  are  brought  into  close 
comparison  with  the  Recompense  offered  to  Vir 
tue,  do  so  shrink  into  mute  and  secret  insig 
nificance  that  they  lose  every  shadow  of  effect, 
nothing  that  ever  occurred  to  man's  fiery  im 
agination  bearing  any  proportion  as  a  picture 
of  delight  to  the  promises  granted  to  obedi 
ence.  .  .  . 

EPILOGUE 

June  ii. 

When  Memory  rakes  up  her  treasures,  her 
ingots  of  thought,  I  fear  she  will  seldom  recur  to 
the  Muse's  tenth  son  ;  and  yet  she  should  have 
been  able  to  gather  and  condense  something  from 
the  wealth  of  fancy  which  Nature  supplies  in  the 
beautiful  summer.  I  have  played  the  enthusiast 
with  my  book  in  the  greenwood,  the  huntsman 
with  my  gun  ;  have  sat  upon  rocks  and  mused 
o'er  flood  and  fell ;  have  indulged  the  richest 
indolence  of  a  poet,  and  am  therefore  a  creditor 
to  Nature  for  some  brilliant  and  unusual  inspira- 


266  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

tion.  But  the  Goddess  is  slow  of  payment  —  or 
has  forgotten  an  old  bantling.  If  she  was  partial 
once, she  is  morose  now;  for  familiarity  (if  awful 
Nature  will  permit  me  to  use  so  bold  a  word) 
breeds  disgust;  and  Vinegar  is  the  son  of  Wine; 
peradventure  I  may  yet  be  admitted  to  the  con 
templation  of  her  inner  magnificence,  and  her 
favour  may  find  me,  no  shrine,  indeed,  but  some 
snug  niche,  in  the  temple  of  Time.  "  Tut," 
says  Fortune, — "  and  if  you  fail,  it  shall  never  be 
from  lack  of  vanity." 

Labour  is  the  son  of  Resolution,  and  the  fa 
ther  of  Greatness,  of  Health  and  Wealth.  The 
family  is  a  very  thriving  one,  though  it  is  infested 
not  uncommonly  by  an  execrable  Vermin  called 
Care. 


JOURNAL    XII 

THE  WIDE  WORLD,  NO.  n 

June,  1823. 

[THIS  journal  has  no  dedication.  The  earlier 
part  is  here  omitted.  Its  pages  reflect  a  state  of 
depression  in  the  young  writer,  doubtless  due 
to  poor  health  and  to  the  mortification  that 
he  felt  in  not  being  a  better  teacher.  This  was 
largely  due  to  his  shyness.  Yet  he  was  soon 
called  on  to  show  greater  courage,  for  his  bro 
ther  William,  having  established  a  good  name 
for  his  school,  was  now  for  the  first  time  at  lib 
erty  to  do  something  for  himself.  He  went  to 
Gottingen  to  study  for  the  ministry,  leaving 
Waldo  in  full  charge  of  the  school.] 


268  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

JOURNAL  OF  A  WALK  TO  THE  CONNECTICUT 

August,  1823.' 

"  Have  lights  when  other  men  are  blind 
As  pigs  are  said  to  see  the  wind. ' r 

FRAMINGHAM,  August  22,  1823. 
Friday  noon,  Warren's  Hotel, 

After  a  delightful  walk  of  twenty  miles, 
I  reached  this  inn  before  noon,  and  in  the  near 
recollection  of  my  promenade  through  Roxbury, 
Newton,  Needham,  Natick,  do  recommend  the 
same,  particularly  as  far  as  the  Lower  Falls  in 
Newton,  to  my  friends  who  are  fond  of  fine 
scenery. 

To  this  stage  of  mine  errantry  no  adventure 
has  befallen  me ;  no,  not  the  meeting  with  a 
mouse.  I  both  thought  and  talked  a  little  with 
myself  on  the  way,  and  gathered  up  and  watered 
such  sprigs  of  poetry  as  I  feared  had  wilted  in 
my  memory.  I  thought  how  History  has  a  two 
fold  effect,  viz.,  intellectual  pleasure  and  moral 
pain.  And  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  country 
I  thought  how  monotonous  and  uniform  is 
Nature;  but  I  found  now  as  ever  that, maugre 
all  the  flights  of  the  sacred  muse,  the  profane 

i  This,  though  written  in  a  pocket  note-book,  is  inserted 
in  its  proper  place  in  this  journal. 


i8z3]  TURNPIKES  269 

solicitudes  of  the  flesh  elevated  the  Tavern  to 
a  high  rank  among  my  pleasures. 

WORCESTER  ;  evening,  8  o'clock. 
I  reached  Worcester  one  half  hour  ago,  hav 
ing  walked  forty  miles  without  difficulty.  Every 
time  I  traverse  a  turnpike,  I  find  it  harder  to 
conceive  how  they  are  supported;  I  met  but 
three  or  four  travellers  between  Roxbury  and 
Worcester.  The  scenery  all  the  way  was  fine, 
and  the  turnpike,  a  road  of  inflexible  principle, 
swerving  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left, 
stretched  on  before  me,  always  in  sight.  A 
traveller  who  has  nothing  particular  to  think 
about  is  apt  to  make  a  very  lively  personifica 
tion  of  his  Road  and  to  make  the  better  com 
panion  of  it.  The  Kraken,  thought  I,  or  the 
Sea-Worm,  is  three  English  miles  long;  but  this 
land  worm  of  mine  is  some  forty,  and  those  of 
the  hugest. 

Saturday:  Rice's  Hotel,  BROOKFIELD. 
After  passing  through  Leicester,  Spencer  and 
North  Brookfield,  I  am  comfortably  seated  in 
South  Brookfield,  sixty  miles  from  home.  In 
Leicester,  I  met  with  Stephen  Elliot  in  the  bar 
room  of  the  inn,  on  his  way,  it  appeared,  to 


270  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Stafford  Springs.  He  guessed  with  me  a  few 
minutes  concerning  the  design  and  use  of  a  huge 
white  building  opposite  the  house,  and  could  not 
decide  whether  it  were  court  house  or  whether 
it  were  church.  But  the  stageman  called,  and  he 
went  on  his  way.  The  building  I  found  to  be  an 
Academy  containing  ordinarily  eighty  students, 
— boys  and  girls.  "Not  so  many  girls  now," 
added  the  bar-keeper,  "  because  there  is  no  fe 
male  instructor;  and  they  like  a  woman  to  teach 
them  the  higher  things."  "Ye  stars!"  thought 
I,  "if  the  Metropolis  get  this  notion,  the  Mogul 
and  I  must  lack  bread."  At  Spencer,  I  sympa 
thized  with  a  coachman  who  complained,  that, 
"  ride  as  far  or  as  fast  as  he  would,  the  milestones 
were  all  alike  and  told  the  same  number!"  Mr. 
Stevens  of  North  Brookfield  is  an  innholder 
after  my  heart.  Corpulent  and  comfortable,  hon 
est  to  a  cent,  with  high  opinions  of  the  clergy. 
And  yet  he  told  me  there  was  a  mournful  rise 
of  schisms  since  he  was  a  boy,  —  Unitarians  and 
Universalists, — which,  he  said,  he  believed  were 
all  one,  and  he  never  heard  their  names  till  lately. 
I  asked  him  the  cause  of  all  this  frightful  heter 
odoxy?  The  old  serpent,  he  said,  was  at  work 
deceiving  man.  He  could  not  but  think  people 
behaved  about  as  well  now  as  their  fathers  did; 


i823]  BROOKFIELD  271 

but  then  Mr.  Bisby  (the  Universalist)  minister 
of  Brookfield  is  a  cunning  fox,  and  by  and  bye 
he  and  his  hosts  will  show  what  and  how  bad 
they  really  are.  My  good  landlord's  philan 
thropic  conclusion  was,  that  there  was  a  monitor 
within,  and,  if  we  minded  that,  no  matter  how  we 
speculated. 

Sunday  evening,  August  24. 

I  rested  this  Sabbath  day  on  the  banks  of  the 
Quebog.  Mr.  Stone,  a  worthy  Calvinist,  who 
had  been  already  recommended  to  my  respect, 
by  the  hearty  praises  of  my  last-named  landlord, 
preached  all  day,  and  reminded  me  forcibly  of 
one  of  my  idols,  Dr.  Nichols  of  Portland.1 

My  lord  Bacon,  my  trusty  counsellor  all  the 
week,  has  six  or  seven  choice  essays  for  holy 
time.  The  aforesaid  lord  knew  passing  well  what 

i  Rev.  Ichabod  Nichols,  pastor  of  the  First  Church  (Uni 
tarian)  of  Portland,  from  1809  to  1859.  The  following  is 
quoted  from  a  historical  sermon  by  Rev.  John  C.  Perkins, 
pastor  of  the  same  church  :  "  This  man  dominated  the  best 
thought  of  this  city.  .  .  .  He  was  a  man  of  great  serious 
ness  and  a  fine  dignity.  .  .  .  He  was  modest  and  retiring. 
He  stood  for  everything  that  was  substantial  and  permanent 
in  human  life.  He  was  a  scholar  with  delicate  perceptions  of 
truth.  He  was  a  writer  who  said  what  his  own  age  needed.  Dr. 
Channing  once  said,  after  listening  to  an  address  of  his,  '  I 
could  not  have  done  that ;  he  is  my  superior.'  " 


272  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

was  in  man,  woman  and  child,  what  was  in  books, 
and  what  in  palaces.  This  possessor  of  transcend 
ent  intellect  was  a  mean  slave  to  courts  and  a 
conniverat  bribery.  And  now,  perchance,if  men 
tal  distinctions  give  place  to  moral  ones  at  the 
end  of  life,  now  this  intellectual  giant,  who  has 
been  the  instructor  of  the  world  and  must  con 
tinue  to  be  a  teacher  of  mankind  till  the  end  of 
time,  —  has  been  forced  to  relinquish  his  pre 
eminence,  and  in  another  world  to  crawl  in  the 
dust  at  the  feet  of  those  to  whom  his  mounting 
spirit  was  once  a  sacred  guide.  One  instant  suc 
ceeding  dissolution  will  perhaps  satisfy  us  that 
there  is  no  inconsistency  in  this.  Till  then,  I 
should  be  loth  to  ascribe  anything  less  than 
celestial  state  to  the  Prince  of  philosophers. 

BELCHERTOWN,  Clapp's  Hotel: 

Monday  afternoon. 

After  noticing  the  name  of  Mr.  Rice  upon 
the  hat  store,  upon  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and 
upon  the  Inn  of  South  Brookfield,  T  made  in 
quiries  of  my  landlord,  and  learned  that  this 
omni-trader  was  he  himself,  who,  moreover, 
owned  two  lines  of  stages!  This  morning  Phoe 
bus  and  I  set  out  together  upon  our  respective 
journies;  and  I  believe  we  shall  finish  them  to- 


1823]  AMHERST  273 

gether,  since  this  village  is  ten  miles  from  Am- 
herst.  The  morning  walk  was  delightful;  and 
the  sun  amused  himself  and  me  by  making  rain 
bows  on  the  thick  mist  which  darkened  the  coun 
try.  After  passing  through  West  Brookfield,  I 
breakfasted  among  some  right  worshipful  wag 
goners  at  the  pleasant  town  of  Western,1  and  then 
passed  through  a  part  of  Palmer  (I  believe)  and 
Ware  to  this  place.  I  count  that  road  pleasant 
and  that  air  good,  which  forces  me  to  smile  from 
mere  animal  pleasure,  albeit  I  may  be  a  smiling 
man;  so  I  am  free  to  commend  the  road  from 
Cutler's  Tavern  in  Western,  as  far  as  Babcock's 
in  Ware,  to  any  youthful  traveller,  who  walks 
upon  a  cloudless  August  morning.  Let  me  not 
forget  to  record  here  the  benevolent  landlady 
of  Ware  who  offered  me  her  liquors  and  crackers 
upon  the  precarious  credit  of  my  return,  rather 
than  exchange  my  bills. 

Monday  evening:  Bartlett's,  AMHERST. 
I  sit  here  ninety  miles  from  home,  and  three 
from  the  Institution,  and  have  the  pleasure  and 
eke  the  honour,  to  waft,  on  the  winged  steeds 
of  a  wish,  my  best  regards  to  the  lords  and  ladye 
who  sit  at  home;  to  the  majesty  of  Tartary, 
I  The  town  has  since  been  named  Warren. 


274  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

chiefest  of  men,  calling  the  young  satraps  to  order 
from  the  elbow  chair  and  secretly  meditating 
golden  schemes  in  an  iron  age ;  then  to  the  young 
lion  of  the  tribe  (to  change  the  metaphor)  now 
resting  and  musing  on  his  honourable  oars;  next 
to  my  loud-voiced  and  spare-built  friend,  loving 
duty  better,  oh,  abundantly  better,  than  pudding ; 
last  to  the  medalled  youth,  the  anxious  Driver 
and  Director  of  the  whole  establishment;  peace 
to  his  Bones.1  My  worthy  landlord  wishes  bless 
ings  to  the  Amherst  Institution,  which,  saith  he, 
howbeit  it  may  have  had  a  muddy  foundation, 
yet  the  Lord  hath  blessed. 

Thursday,  August. 

Tuesday  morning  I  engaged  Mr.  Bartlett  to 
bring  me  to  Mrs.  Shepard's,  and  I  think  the 
worthy  man  returned  with  some  complacent 

i  He  alludes  to  his  brothers  :  William  (the  "  Majesty  of 
Tartary"),  the  serious  and  dignified  eldest  brother,  who, 
having  given  up  his  school  for  young  ladies  to  Waldo,  was 
probably  tutoring  Boston  youth  in  the  months  that  remained 
before  his  going  to  study  at  Gottingen  for  the  ministry. 

Edward  is  the  "lion  of  the  tribe,"  brilliant,  eager,  ambi 
tious  and  just  entering  on  his  senior  year.  The  good  but  defi 
cient  Robert  Bulkeley  is  the  "loud-voiced  and  spare-built" 
one,  and  Charles,  the  youngest,  always  a  brilliant  scholar,  is 
the  "  medalled  youth"  at  the  Latin  (?)  School. 


i823]  AMHERST  275 

recollections  of  the  instructions  and  remarks  he 
had  dropped  on  the  way  for  the  stranger's  edifi 
cation.  Our  wagon  ride  was  somewhat  uneasy 
from  below,  but  its  ups  and  downs  were  am 
ply  compensated  by  the  richness  and  grandeur 
visible  above  and  around.  Hampshire  County 
rides  in  wagons.  In  this  pleasant  land  I  found 
a  house  full  of  friends, — a  noble  house,  very 
good  friends.  In  the  afternoon  I  went  to  the 
College.  The  infant  college  is  an  infant  Her 
cules.  Never  was  so  much  striving,  outstretch 
ing,  and  advancing  in  a  literary  cause  as  is 
exhibited  here. 

The  students  all  feel  a  personal  responsibility 
in  the  support  and  defence  of  their  young  Alma 
Mater  against  all  antagonists,  and  as  long  as 
this  battle  abroad  shall  continue,  the  Govern 
ment,  unlike  all  other  Governments,  will  not  be 
compelled  to  fight  with  its  students  within. 

The  opposition  of  other  towns  and  counties 
produces,  moreover,  a  correspondent  friendship 
and  kindness  from  the  people  in  Amherst,  and 
there  is  a  daily  exhibition  of  affectionate  feeling 
between  the  inhabitants  and  the  scholars,  which 
is  the  more  pleasant  as  it  is  so  uncommon. 
They  attended  the  Declamation  and  Commence 
ment  with  the  interest  which  parents  usually 


276  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

shew  at  the  exhibitions  of  schools  where  their 
own  children  are  engaged.  I  believe  the  affair 
was  first  moved,  about  three  years  ago,  by  the 
Trustees  of  the  Academy.  When  the  corner 
stone  of  the  South  College  was  laid,  the  institu 
tion  did  not  own  a  dollar.  A  cartload  of  stones 
was  brought  by  a  farmer  in  Pelham,  to  begin 
the  foundation ;  and  now  they  have  two  large 
brick  edifices,  a  President's  house,  and  consid 
erable  funds.  Dr.  Moore  has  left  them  six  or 
seven  thousand  dollars.  A  poor  one-legged  man 
died  last  week  in  Pelham,  who  was  not  known 
to  have  any  property,  and  left  them  four  thou 
sand  dollars  to  be  appropriated  to  the  building 
of  a  chapel,  over  whose  door  is  to  be  inscribed 
his  name,  Adams  Johnson.  William  Phillips 
gave  a  thousand,  and  William  Eustis  a  hundred 
dollars,  and  great  expectations  are  entertained 
from  some  rich  men,  friends  to  the  Seminary, 
who  will  die  without  children. 

They  have  wisely  systematized  this  spirit  of 
opposition,  which  they  have  found  so  lucrative, 
and  the  students  are  all  divided  into  thriving 
opposition  societies,  which  gather  libraries,  lab 
oratories,  mineral  cabinets,  etc.,  with  an  inde 
fatigable  spirit,  which  nothing  but  rivalry  could 
inspire.  Upon  this  impulse,  they  write,  speak, 


i823]        THE   NEW   COLLEGE          277 

and  study  in  a  sort  of  fury,  which,  I  think, 
promises  a  harvest  of  attainments.  The  Com 
mencement  was  plainly  that  of  a  young  college, 
but  had  strength  and  eloquence  mixed  with  the 
apparent  "  vestigia  ruris"  and  the  scholar  who 
gained  the  prize  for  declamation,  the  evening 
before,  would  have  a  first  prize  at  any  Cam 
bridge  competition. 

The  College  is  supposed  to  be  worth  net 
85,000  dollars. 

After  spending  three  days  very  pleasantly  at 
Mrs.  Shepard's,  among  orators,  botanists,  min 
eralogists,  and  above  all,  ministers,  I  set  off  on 
Friday  morning  with  Thomas  Greenough  and 
another  little  cousin  in  a  chaise  to  visit  Mount 
Holyoke.  How  high  the  hill  may  be  I  know 
not ;  for  different  accounts  make  it  eight,  twelve, 
and  sixteen  hundred  feet  from  the  river.  The 
prospect  repays  the  ascent,  and  although  the 
day  was  hot  and  hazy,  so  as  to  preclude  a  dis 
tant  prospect,  yet  all  the  broad  meadows  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  mountain  through 
which  the  Connecticutt  winds  make  a  beautiful 
picture,  seldom  rivalled.  After  adding  our  names 
in  the  books  to  the  long  list  of  strangers  whom 
curiosity  has  attracted  to  this  hill,  we  descended 
in  safety  without  encountering  rattlesnake  or 


278  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

viper  that  have  given  so  bad  fame  to  the  place. 
We  were  informed  that  about  forty  people  as 
cend  the  mountain  every  fair  day  during  the 
summer.  After  passing  through  Hadley  mead 
ows,  I  took  leave  of  my  companions  at  North 
ampton  bridge  and  crossed  for  the  first  time 
the  far-famed  Yankee  river.  From  the  hotel  in 
Northampton  I  visited  Mr.  Theodore  Strong, 
where  I  have  been  spending  a  couple  of  days  of 
great  pleasure.  His  five  beautiful  daughters  and 
son  make  one  of  the  finest  families  I  ever  saw. 
In  the  afternoon,  I  went  on  horseback  (Oh, 
Hercules !)  with  Allen  Strong  to  Round  Hill, 
the  beautiful  site  of  the  Gymnasium,  and  to 
Shepherd's  Factory,  about  four  miles  from  the 
centre  of  the  town.  Saturday  morning,  we  went 
in  a  chaise  in  pursuit  of  a  lead  mine  said  to  lie 
about  five  miles  off,  which  we  found  after  great 
and  indefatigable  search.  We  tied  our  horse  and 
descended,  by  direction,  into  a  somewhat  steep 
glen,  at  the  bottom  of  which  we  found  the 
covered  entrance  of  a  little  canal  about  five  feet 
wide.  Into  this  artificial  cavern  we  fired  a  gun 
to  call  out  the  miner  from  within.  The  report 
was  long  and  loudly  echoed  and  after  a  weary 
interval  we  discerned  a  boat  with  lamps  lighted 
in  its  side  issuing  from  this  dreary  abode.  We 


i823]  NORTHAMPTON  279 

welcomed  the  miner  to  the  light  of  the  sun,  and 
leaving  our  hats  without,  and  binding  our  heads, 
we  lay  down  in  the  boat  and  were  immediately 
introduced  to  a  cave  varying  in  height  from  four 
to  six  and  eight  feet,  hollowed  in  a  pretty  soft 
sandstone  through  which  the  water  continually 
drops.  When  we  lost  the  light  of  the  entrance 
and  saw  only  this  gloomy  passage  by  the  light 
of  lamps,  it  required  no  effort  of  the  imagination 
to  believe  we  were  leaving  the  world,  and  our 
smutty  ferryman  was  a  true  Charon.  After  sail 
ing  a  few  hundred  feet,  the  vault  grew  higher 
and  wider  overhead,  and  there  was  a  considerable 
trickling  of  water  on  our  left;  this  was  the  ven 
tilator  of  the  mine  and  reaches  up  to  the  surface 
of  the  earth.  We  continued  to  advance  in  this 
manner  for  900  feet,  and  then  got  out  of  the 
boat  and  walked  on  planks  a  little  way  to  the 
end  of  this  excavation.  Here  we  expected  to  find 
the  lead  vein,  and  the  operations  of  the  subter 
ranean  man,  but  were  sadly  disappointed.  He 
had  been  digging  through  this  stone  for  12  years, 
and  has  not  yet  discovered  any  lead  at  all.  Indi 
cations  of  lead  at  the  surface  led  some  Boston 
gentlemen  to  set  this  man  at  work,  in  the  ex 
pectation  that  after  cutting  his  dark  canal  for 
1000  feet,  he  would  reach  the  vein,  and  the 


280  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

canal  would  then  draw  off  the  water  which  pre 
vented  them  from  digging  from  above.  As  yet, 
he  has  found  no  lead,  but,  as  he  gravely  ob 
served,  "  has  reached  some  excellent  granite."  In 
this  part  of  the  work  he  has  forty  dollars  for 
every  foot  he  advances  and  it  occupies  him  ten 
days  to  earn  this. 

He  has  advanced  975  feet,  and  spends  his 
days,  winter  and  summer,  alone  in  this  damp  and 
silent  tomb.  He  says  the  place  is  excellent  for 
meditation;  and  that  he  sees  no  goblins.  Many 
visitors  come  to  his  dark  residence,  and  pay  him 
a  shilling  apiece  for  the  sight.  A  young  man,  he 
said,  came  the  day  before  us,  who  after  going  in 
a  little  way  was  taken  with  terrors  and  said  he 
felt  faint,  and  returned.  Said  miner  is  a  brawny 
person,  and  discreet  withal;  has  a  wife  and  lives 
near  the  hole.  All  his  excavations  are  performed 
by  successive  blasting. 

In  the  afternoon  I  set  out  on  my  way  to 
Greenfield,  intending  to  pass  the  Sabbath  with 
George  Ripley.  Mr.  Strong  insisted  on  carrying 
me  to  Hatfield,  and  thence  I  passed,  chiefly  on 
foot,  through  Whately  and  Deerfield  over  sands 
and  pine  barrens,  and  across  Green  River  to 
Greenfield,  and  did  not  arrive  there  till  after  ten 
o'clock  and  found  both  taverns  shut  up.  I  should 


,823]  GREENFIELD  281 

have  staid  in  Deerfield  if  Mr.  S.  had  not  ridiculed 
the  idea  of  getting  to  Greenfield  that  night.  In  the 
morning  I  called  at  Mr.  Ripley's,  and  was  sorely 
disappointed  to  learn  that  his  son  was  at  Cam 
bridge.  The  family  were  exceedingly  hospitable, 
and  I  listened  with  as  great  pleasure  to  a  sermon 
from  Rev.  Mr.  Perkins  of  Amherst  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  in  the  afternoon  rode  over  to  the  other 
parish  with  Mr.  R.  to  hear  Rev.  Lincoln  Rip- 
ley.  After  service  Mr.  L.  R.  returned  with  us, 
and  in  the  evening  we  heard  another  sermon 
from  Mr.  Perkins  which  pleased  me  abundantly 
better  than  his  matins.  He  is  a  loud-voiced, 
scripture-read  divine,  and  his  compositions  have 
the  element  of  a  potent  eloquence,  but  he  lacks 
taste.  By  the  light  of  the  evening  star  I  walked 
with  my  reverend  uncle,1  a  man  who  well  sus 
tained  the  character  of  an  aged  missionary.  It  is 
a  new  thing  to  him,  he  said,  to  correspond  with 
his  wife,  and  he  attends  the  mail  regularly  every 
Monday  morning  to  send  or  receive  a  letter. 

I  Rev.  Lincoln  Ripley  was  Mr.  Emerson's  step-great- 
uncle,  as  being  brother  of  Dr.  Ezra  Ripley,  minister  of  Con 
cord,  who  had  married  the  widow  of  Rev.  William  Emerson 
of  Concord,  the  builder  of  the  "  Old  Manse,"  and  chaplain 
in  the  army  at  Ticonderoga.  Rev.  Lincoln  Ripley  was  minister 
ofWaterford,  Maine. 


282  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

After  a  dreamless  night,  and  a  most  hospitable 
entertainment,  I  parted  from  Greenfield  and 
through  an  unusually  fine  country,  crossed  the 
Connecticutt  (shrunk  to  a  rivulet  in  this  place 
somewhere  in  Montagu).  My  solitary  way  grew 
somewhat  more  dreary,  as  I  drew  nearer  Wen 
dell,  and  the  only  relief  to  hot  sandy  roads  and 
a  barren,  monotonous  region  was  one  fine  forest 
with  many  straight,  clean  pine  trees  upwards  of 
a  hundred  feet  high,  "fit  for  the  mast  of  some 
great  Admiral." I  All  that  day  was  a  thoughtless, 
heavy  pilgrimage,  and  Fortune  deemed  that  such 
a  crowded  week  of  pleasure  demanded  a  reaction 
of  pain.  At  night  I  was  quartered  in  the  mean 
est  caravansera  which  has  contained  my  person 
since  the  tour  began.  Traveller!  weary  and  jaded, 
who  regardest  the  repose  of  thine  earthly  tene 
ment;  traveller,  hungry  and  athirst,  whose  heart 
warms  to  the  hope  of  animal  gratification;  trav 
eller  of  seven  or  seventy  years,  beware,  beware, 
I  beseech  you,  of  Haven's  Inn  in  New  Salem. 
Already  he  is  laying  a  snare  for  your  kindness 
or  credulity  in  fencing  in  a  mineral  spring  for 
your  infirmities.  Beware. 

1  "The  tallest  pine 

Hewn  on  Norwegian  hills  to  be  the  mast 
Of  some  great  ammiral  " 

MILTON,  Paradise  Lost,  Book  I. 


i8z3]       THE    HOME-STRETCH        283 

From  Mr.  Haven's  garret  bed  I  sallied  forth 
Tuesday  morning  to  wards  Hubbardston,but  my 
cramped  limbs  made  little  speed.  After  dining 
in  Hubbardston  I  walked  seven  miles  farther  to 
Princeton,  designing  to  ascend  Wachusett  with 
my  tall  cousin  Thomas  Greenough,  if  I  should 
find  him  there,  and  then  set  out  for  home  in  the 
next  day's  stage.  But  when  morning  came,  and 
the  stage  was  brought,  and  the  mountain  was 
a  mile  and  a  half  away,  —  learned  again  an  old 
lesson,  that,  the  beldam  Disappointment  sits  at 
Hope's  door.  I  jumped  into  the  stage  and  rode 
away,  Wachusett  untrod.  At  Sterling,  I  learned 
that  Oliver  Blood  studies  physic  in  Worces 
ter.  At  Boston  I  saw  Nat  Wood1  on  his  way 
to  Amherst,  N.  H.,  to  study  law,  his  peda 
gogical  career  being  terminated  —  O  fortunate 
nimium  I 

Close-cooped  in  a  stage-coach  with  a  score  of 
happy,  dusty  rustics,  the  pilgrim  continued  his 
ride  to  Waltham,  and  alighting  there,  spent  an 
agreeable  evening  at  Rev.  Mr.  Ripley's.2  Home 
he  came  from  thence  the  next  morning,  right 

1  Blood  and  Wood  were  his  classmates. 

2  Rev.    Samuel  Ripley,  minister  of  Waltham,  was  step- 
uncle  of  the  Emerson  boys,  and  always  a  kind  friend  and  bene 
factor,  especially  to  Waldo. 


284  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

glad  to  sit  down  once  more  in  a  quiet  well-fed 
family  at  Canterbury. 


CANTERBURY,  September,  1823. 

I  have  often  found  cause  to  complain  that  my 
thoughts  have  an  ebb  and  flow.  Whether  any 
laws  fix  them,  and  what  the  laws  are,  I  cannot 
ascertain.  I  have  quoted  a  thousand  times  the 
memory  of  Milton  and  tried  to  bind  my  think 
ing  season  to  one  part  of  the  year,  or  to  one 
sort  of  weather ;  to  the  sweet  influence  of  the 
Pleiades,  or  to  the  summer  reign  of  Lyra.  The 
worst  is,  that  the  ebb  is  certain,  long  and  fre 
quent,  while  the  flow  comes  transiently  and 
seldom.1 

Once  when  Vanity  was  full  fed,  it  sufficed  to 
keep  me  at  work  and  to  produce  some  credit 
able  scraps ;  but  alas !  it  has  long  been  dying  of 

I    So  in  "The  Poet  ";  Poems  (appendix),  p.  319:  — 

Is  there  warrant  that  the  waves 

Of  thought,  in  their  mysterious  caves, 

Will  heap  in  me  their  highest  tide, 

In  me,  therewith  beatified  ? 

Unsure  the  ebb  and  flow  of  thought, 

The  moon  comes  back,  —  the  spirit  not. 

Also  in  "The  Preacher,"  Lectures  and  Biographical 
Sketches,  p.  219. 


i823]       TIDES   OF   THOUGHT         285 

a  galloping  starvation,  and  the  Muse,  I  fear  me, 
will  die  too.  The  dreams  of  my  childhood  are 
all  fading  away  and  giving  place  to  some  very 
sober  and  very  disgusting  views  of  a  quiet 
mediocrity  of  talents  and  condition  —  nor  does 
it  appear  to  me  that  any  application  of  which 
I  am  capable,  any  efforts,  any  sacrifices,  could  at 
this  moment  restore  any  reasonableness  to  the 
familiar  expectations  of  my  earlier  youth.  But 
who  is  he  that  repines?  Let  him  read  the  song 
about  the  linter-goose. 

Melons  and  plums  and  peaches,  eating  and 
drinking,  and  the  bugle,  all  the  day  long.  These 
are  the  glorious  occupations  which  engross  a 
proud  and  thinking  being,  running  his  race  of 
preparation  for  the  eternal  world.  Man  is  a  fool 
ish  slave  who  is  busy  in  forging  his  own  fetters. 
Sometimes  he  lifts  up  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
admires  freedom,  and  then  hammers  the  rivets 
of  his  chain.  Who  does  not  believe  life  to  be  an 
illusion  when  he  sees  the  daily,  yearly,  livelong, 
inconsistency  that  men  indulge,  in  thinking  so 
well  and  doing  so  ill?  .  .  . 

GOD 

.  .  .  God's  works  are  fruits  of  his  character; 
copies  (as  ancient  philosophy  expressed  it)  of 


286  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

his  mind  and  wishes.  One  could  not  venerate 
him  if  he  were  only  good.  Who  could  bow  down 
before  a  god  who  had  infinite  instincts  of  benev 
olence,  and  no  thought;  in  whom  the  eye  of 
knowledge  was  shut ;  who  was  kind  and  good 
because  he  knew  no  better ;  who  was  infinitely 
gentle  as  brutes  are  gentle  ?  The  poor  Egyp 
tian  plebeian  layman  might  do  so,  who  wor 
shipped  a  divine  Ox,  for  his  gracious  tameness  ; 
but  an  enlightened  Man,  with  the  spirit  of 
a  man,  would  bid  them  bring  the  stake  and  fire 
and  make  him  Martyr,  ere  he  surrendered  his 
mind  and  body  to  such  a  prostration.  Man  re 
veres  the  Providence  of  God  as  the  benign  and 
natural  result  of  his  omniscience  ;  and  expects  in 
the  imperfect  image  of  God  an  imperfect  copy 
of  the  same  eternal  order.1  .  .  . 

October  5. 

Milord  W.2  from  Andover  let  me  into  his 
mystery  about  Edwards  on  the  Will,  and  told  me, 

1  Mr.  Cabot,  in  his  Memoir  (p.  103),  gives  two  letters 
on  God  and  Providence,  written  at  this  period  by  Emerson  to 
his  Aunt  Mary,  who,  as  he  used  to  say,  "  wished  everyone  to 
be  a  Calvinist  but  herself/' 

2  William  Withington,  a  classmate,  who  became  an  Epis 
copalian  minister.   In  the  Century  Magazine  for  July,  1883, 
are  printed  several  interesting  letters  written  to  him  by  Emerson 


i8z3]  LETTERS  FROM  ANDOVER  287 

withal,  that  the  object  of  the  piece  was  to  prove 
that  President  E.  has  not  advanced  human 
knowledge  one  step,  for  his  definition  includes  the 
very  proposition  which  the  book  is  designed  to 
establish.  W.  saith,  moreover,  that  perchance  the 
President  has  done  something,  albeit  his  defini 
tions  be  imprudent  and  entangled.  And,  per 
chance,  the  fault  of  apparently  proving  an  iden 
tical  proposition  lies  in  the  nature  of  the  subject 
which,  though  so  intricate  before  as  to  have  ever 
been  debateable  ground,  is  made  so  plain  by  the 
able  and  skilful  statements  of  Edwards,  that  we 
are  made  to  see  the  truth,  and  wonder  that  it 
ever  was  disputed.  Waldo  E.  will  please  con 
sult  upon  this  topic,  on  one  side  Edwards, 
Priestley,  and  Belsham ;  on  the  other,  Clarke, 
and  Stewart  (?).  Dr.  Reid  is  to  be  read  by  me, 
quo  citius,  eo  melius  ;  and  Edinburgh  Review  of 
La  Place's  Calculation  of  Chances ;  also  are  to 
be  stated  anew  the  two  propositions  unanswer 
able  concerning  Necessity.  One  of  them  has 
occurred  in  Wideworld  No.  8.1 


a  year  earlier  than  this  entry.  By  the  kind  permission  of  the 
Century  Company,  extracts  from  these  are  introduced  after 
this  paragraph. 

i    Under  '« Benevolence.*' 


288  JOURNAL  [AGE  19 

[In  April,  1822,  Emerson  wrote  to  Withing- 
ton  at  Andover]  u  to  congratulate  you  upon 
your  singular  exemption  from  the  general  misery 
of  your  compeers,  who  have  rushed  into  the 
tutors'  desks  of  every  Minerva's  temple  in  the 
country;  then,  to  claim  the  honour  of  corre 
sponding  with  one  scholar  in  the  land,  — and 
to  enjoin  it  upon  you  as  a  primal  duty  to  write 
a  letter  from  your  seat  of  science  to  a  desponding 
schoolmaster. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  there  is  such  a  pro 
found  studying  of  German  and  Hebrew,  Park- 
hurst  and  Jahn,  and  such  other  names  as  the 
memory  aches  to  think  of,  on  foot  at  Andover. 
.  .  .  What  are  you  studying  beside  Bibles?  Do 
you  let  suns  and  moons,  eclipses  and  comets 
pass  without  calculation  or  account?  Is  there 
not  time  for  trigonometry  —  no,  not  for  a  log 
arithm  ?  Or,  if  all  these  are  forgotten,  I  hope 
you  have  not  sacrificed  Johnson  and  Burke, 
Shakespeare  and  Scott  altogether.  Books  are  not 
so  numerous  at  Andover  but  that  you  will  want 
the  Cambridge  Library."  .  .  . 

(July,  1822.) 

[Emerson  praises  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel, 
which  he  is  reading,  as  being]  "  I  fear,  ex- 


i822]     LETTER  TO  CLASSMATE     289 

eluded  from  your  reading  Catalogue  because  it 
is  so  unfortunate  as  to  bear  the  name  of  a  novel. 
But  if  masterly,  unrivalled  genius  add  any  weight 
to  the  invitation  for  a  scholar  to  step  out  of  his 
Greek  and  Hebrew  circle  of  sad  enchantment 
that  he  may  pluck  such  flowers  of  taste  and 
fancy  as  never  bloomed  before,  to  deck  his 
strength  withal,  —  why  then  he  may  read  Scott, 
and  particularly  the  latter  novels.  .  .  .  Perhaps 
it  is  wasting  your  time  to  trouble  you  with  my 
lucubrations  about  novels  and  poetical  idolatry, 
but,  at  the  moment,  I  have  it  more  at  heart  than 
aught  else,  and  if,  when  you  read  this,  you  be 
stooping  to  some  musty  folio  which  suffered 
under  the  types  of  a  century  ago,  you  will  oblige 
me  by  transferring  your  solemn  thoughts  there 
upon  on  paper  to  me,  —  yea,  if  it  be  a  dictionary, 
if  it  be  anything  earthly  but  mathematics."  .  .  . 

(November,  1822.) 

[Emerson  speaks  of  Plato,  and  goes  on — ] 
"  I  have  read  one  very  useful  book  of  late, 
Stewart's  Second  Dissertation.  It  saves  you  a 
world  of  reading  by  laying  open  the  history  of 
moral  and  intellectual  philosophy  since  the  Re 
vival  of  Letters.  ...  It  is  a  beautiful  and  in 
structive  abridgment  of  the  thousand  volumes 


290  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

of  Locke,  Leibnitz,  Voltaire,  Bayle,  Kant  and 
the  rest.  .  .  .  The  next  books  on  my  table  are 
Hume,  and  Gibbon's  Miscellanies.  I  shall  be  on 
the  high  road  to  ruin  presently  with  such  com 
panions,  but  I  cannot  help  admiring  the  genius 
and  novelty  of  the  one,  and  the  greatness  and 
profound  learning  of  the  other,  maugre  the 
scepticism  and  abominable  sneers  of  both.  If 
you  read  Gibbon  and  Hume,  you  have  to  think, 
and  Gibbon  wakes  you  up  from  slumber  to  wish 
yourself  a  scholar  and  resolve  to  be  one."  .  .  . 

DR.    CHANNING 

Sunday,  October,  1823. 
I  heard  Dr.  Channing  deliver  a  discourse 
upon  Revelation  as  standing  in  comparison 
with  Nature.  I  have  heard  no  sermon  approach 
ing  in  excellence  to  this,  since  the  Dudleian 
Lecture.1  The  language  was  a  transparent 
medium,  conveying  with  the  utmost  distinct 
ness  the  pictures  in  his  mind  to  the  mind  of 
the  hearers.  He  considered  God's  word  to  be 
the  only  expounder  of  his  works,  and  that  Na 
ture  had  always  been  found  insufficient  to  teach 
men  the  great  doctrines  which  Revelation  in 
culcated.  Astronomy  had  in  one  or  two  ways 

l   Also  by  Dr.  Channing. 


i8z3]  CHANNING  291 

an  unhappy  tendency.  An  universe  of  matter 
in  which  Deity  would  display  his  power  and 
greatness  must  be  of  infinite  extent  and  com 
plicate  relations,  and,  of  course,  too  vast  to  be 
measured  by  the  eye  and  understanding  of  man. 
Hence  errors.  Astronomy  reveals  to  us  [an] 
infinite  number  of  worlds  like  our  own,  accom 
modated  for  the  residence  of  such  beings  as  we 
of  gross  matter.  But  to  kindle  our  piety  and 
urge  our  faith,  we  do  not  want  such  a  world  as 
this,  but  a  purer,  a  world  of  morals  and  of  spirits. 
La  Place  has  written  in  the  mountain  album  of 
Switzerland  his  avowal  of  Atheism.  Newton  had 
a  better  master  than  suns  and  stars.  He  heard 
of  heaven  ere  he  philosophized,  and  after  trav 
elling  through  mazes  of  the  universe  he  returned 
to  bow  his  laurelled  head  at  the  feet  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.  Dr.  Channing  regarded  Revelation 
as  much  a  part  of  the  order  of  things  as  any 
other  event.  It  would  have  been  wise  to  have 
made  an  abstract  of  the  Discourse  immediately. 

O  keep  the  current  of  thy  spirits  even ; 

If  it  be  ruffled  by  too  full  a  flood, 

'T  is  turbid  ;  or,  if  drained,  goes  dry.  The  mind, 

In  either  case  obeys  the  animal  pulse, 

And  weeps  the  loss  of  unreturning  time. 


292  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Mr.  Hume's  Essay  upon  Necessary  Connection 
proves  that  events  are  conjoined,  and  not  con 
nected  ;  that  we  have  no  knowledge  but  from 
experience.  We  have  no  experience  of  a  Creator 
and  there  [fore]  know  of  none.  The  constant 
appeal  is  to  our  feelings  from  the  glozed  lies 
of  the  deceived  [deceiver  ?] ,  but  one  would  feel 
safer  and  prouder  to  see  the  victorious  answer 
to  these  calumnies  upon  our  nature  set  down  in 
impregnable  propositions. 

Pride  carves  rich  emblems  on  its  seals, 
And  slights  the  throng  that  dogs  its  heels. 
Fair  Vanity  hath  bells  on  cap  and  shoes, 
And  eyes  his  moving  shadow  as  he  goes. 

We  put  up  with  Time  and  Chance  because  it 
costs  too  great  an  effort  to  subdue  them  to  our 
wills,  and  minds  that  feel  an  embryo  greatness 
stirring  within  them  let  it  die  for  want  of  nour 
ishment.  Plans  that  only  want  maturity,  ideas 
that  only  need  explanation  to  lead  the  thinker 
on  to  a  far  nobler  being  than  now  he  dreams 
of,  good  resolutions  whose  dawning  was  like 
the  birth  of  gods  in  their  benevolent  promise, 
sudden  throbs  of  charity  and  impulses  to  good 
ness  that  spake  most  auspicious  omens,  are 


i823]  READING.     LOVE  293 

suffered  to  languish  and  blight  in  hopeless  bar 
renness.  .  .  . 

December  13,  1823. 

Edinburgh  Review  has  a  fine  eulogy  of  New 
ton  and  Dr.  Black,  etc.,  in  the  first  article  of  the 
3d  Volume.  No.  xxxvi  contains  a  review  of  Mrs. 
Grant  on  Highlanders,  and,  in  it,  good  thoughts 
upon  the  progress  of  Manners.  "A  gentleman's 
character  is  a  compound  of  obligingness  and 
self-esteem."  The  same  volume  reviews  Alison, 
and  gives  an  excellent  condensed  view  of  his 
theory.  The  charm  of  all  these  discussions  is 
only  a  fine  luxury,  producing  scarce  any  good, 
unless  that  of  substituting  a  pure  pleasure  for 
impure.  Occasionally  this  reading  helps  one's 
conversation ;  but  seldom.  The  reason  and 
whole  mind  is  not  forwarded  by  it,  as  by  history. 
The  good  in  life  that  seems  to  be  most  REAL, 
is  not  found  in  reading,  but  in  those  successive 
triumphs  a  man  achieves  over  habits  of  moral 
or  intellectual  indolence,  or  over  an  ungenerous 
Spirit  and  mean  propensities. 

LOVE 

December. 

Love  is  a  holy  passion,  and  is  the  instrument 
of  our  connexion  with  Deity;  and  when  we 


294  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

drop  the  body,  this,  perhaps,  will  constitute  the 
motive  and  impulse  to  all  the  acquisitions  of  an 
immortal  education.  As  we  are  instinctively 
ashamed  of  selfishness,  we  venerate  love,  the 
noble  and  generous  nature  of  which  seeks  an 
other's  good.  .  .  .  Embryo  powers  of  which 
we  were  not  hitherto  conscious  are  nursed  into 
the  manhood  of  mind.  A  powerful  motive  is  to 
the  character  what  a  skilful  hypothesis  is  to  the 
progress  of  science ;  it  affords  facility  and  room 
for  the  arrangement  of  the  growing  principles 
of  our  nature.  What  lay  in  chaos  and  barren 
before,  is  now  adjusted  in  a  beautiful  and  use 
ful  order,  which  exposes  to  the  light  numberless 
connexions  and  relations  and  fine  issues  of 
thought,  not  easily  perceived  until  such  a  sys 
tem  is  laid.  A  motive  thus  powerful  and  of 
such  benignant  fruits  is  love.  .  .  .  It  bears  many 
forms,  but  is  love.  It  is  the  attachment  to  truth, 
to  a  sentiment,  to  our  country,  to  a  fellow  being 
or  to  God,  that  has  won  and  worn  the  crown 
of  martyrdom,  and  that  has  stirred  up  in  men's 
minds  all  the  good  which  the  earth  has  seen. 
Indeed  pure  love  is  too  pure  a  principle  for 
human  bosoms  ;  and,  were  it  not  mixed  with  the 
animal  desires  of  our  nature,  would  not  meet 
that  unqualified  and  universal  honour  it  now 


i8z3]  FEAR  295 

finds  among  men.  .  .  .  What  does  the  sensu 
alist  know  of  love  ?  of  such  love  as  exists  be 
tween  God  and  man,  and  man  and  God  ;  of  such 
love  as  the  pure  mind  conceives  for  moral 
grandeur,  for  the  contemplation  of  which  it  was 
made  ? 

FEAR 

Love  has  an  empire  in  the  world,  but  Fear 
has  an  empire  also.  And  I  wish,  on  the  com 
parison,  this  palsied,  leprous  principle  be  not 
found  to  have  the  larger  sway.  The  conven 
tions,  as  they  are  called,  of  civilized  life,  the 
artificial  order  and  conversation  of  society,  are 
propped  on  this  miserable  reed.  Now  and  then, 
there  are  minds  of  such  indomitable  independ 
ence  as  to  overleap  the  wretched  restraints  of 
fashion,  and  who  let  the  Universe  hear  the  true 
tones  of  their  Voice  ;  unpractised  to  "  the  tune 
of  the  time,"  unembarrassed  by  fear  ;  who  ven 
ture  to  speak  out,  and  to  treat  their  fellow 
creature  as  their  peer,  and  the  Deity  as  God. 
Such  men  embrace,  in  their  apprehension,  a 
larger  portion  of  existence  than  their  weaker 
brethren  in  the  shackles  of  prudence.  By  cast 
ing  a  glance  on  the  future  they  discriminate  be 
tween  trifles  and  magnificent  things,  and  learn 
to  weigh  the  world  in  a  true  scale,  and  to 


296  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

undervalue  what  is  called  greatness  below.  I 
would  not  be  understood  to  cast  imputation  on 
good-breeding  in  the  human  throng  ;  it  is  cer 
tainly  a  convenient,  perhaps  a  necessary  thing  ; 
and  its  absence  could  not  be  borne.  But  in  the 
higher  connexions  of  which  I  speak,  it  is  to  be 
treated  merely  as  a  convenient  thing,  and  when 
it  pretends  to  higher  claims  it  is  to  be  treated 
with  contempt.  Shall  the  fear  which  an  expand 
ing  mind  entertains  of  the  eye  or  tongue  of 
each  insignificant  man  and  woman  in  its  way 
•interfere  with  its  progress  towards  the  ripe  excel 
lence  of  its  being?  There  are  times  in  the  his 
tory  of  every  thinking  mind,  when  it  is  the 
recipient  of  uncommon  and  awful  thought, 
when  somewhat  larger  draughts  of  the  Spiritual 
Universe  are  let  in  upon  the  soul ;  and  it 
breathes  eloquent  ejaculations  to  God,  and 
would  cease  to  be  the  plaything  of  petty 
events,  and  would  become  a  portion  of  that 
world  in  which  it  has  sojourned.  But  that  mind 
returns  into  the  company  of  unsympathising 
minds,  and  the  humble  routine  of  their  small 
talk  is  little  akin  to  the  revelations  opening 
upon  his  soul ;  and  must  what  is  called  Good 
Manners  freeze  the  tongue  that  should  drop 
heaven's  wisdom  to  dumbness ;  and  must  the 


i8z3]  RELIGION  297 

eye  struck  with  the  glory  of  Paradise  be  lev 
elled  to  the  earth  ? 


SHAKSPEARE 

When  merry  England  had  her  virgin  queen, 

And  Glory's  temple  in  the  isle  was  seen, 

On  Avon's  bank  a  child  of  earth  was  born 

In  meads  where  fairies  wind  the  midnight  horn. 

The  tiny  dancers  leaped  in  frolic  wild 

And  o'er  the  cradle  blessed  the  sleeping  child. 

RELIGION 

There  is  danger  of  a  poetical  religion  from  the 
tendencies  of  the  age.  There  is  a  celebrated  pas 
sage  in  the  prose  works  of  the  great  Christian 
bard  which  is  precious  to  the  admirers  of  Milton. 
I  refer  to  the  2d  Book  of  Reason  of  Church  Gov 
ernment^  etc.  There  is  probably  no  young  man 
who  could  read  that  eloquent  chapter  without 
feeling  his  heart  warm  to  the  love  of  virtue  and 
greatness,  and  without  making  fervent  resolu 
tions  that  his  age  should  be  made  better,  because 
he  had  lived.  Yet  these  resolutions,  unless  dili 
gently  nourished  by  prayer  and  expanded  into 
action  by  intense  study,  will  be  presently  lost  in 
the  host  of  worldly  cares ;  but  they  leave  one 


298  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

fruit  that  may  be  poisonous:  they  leave  a  self- 
complacency  arising  from  having  thought  so 
nobly  for  a  moment,  which  leads  the  self-de 
ceiver  to  believe  himself  better  than  other  men. 

AUTHORS  OR  BOOKS  QUOTED  OR  REFERRED  TO 
IN  JOURNALS  OF  1823 

Bible;  Democritus;  Socrates;  Plato;  Horace; 

Norse  Saga  on  Eric's  voyage  to  Greenland; 

Roger  Bacon;  Luther;  Galileo; 

Shakspeare ;  Bacon ;  Milton ;  Waller ;  Cowley ; 

Newton,  Principia ;  Leibnitz  ;  Pope  ;  Neal, 
History  of  the  Puritans ;  Edwards,  On  the  Will; 
Johnson;  Franklin;  Reid;  Hume, Essays;  Bos- 
covich; 

William  Robertson;  Playfair;  Laplace,  apud 
Edinburgh  Review; 

Mrs.  Anne  Grant,  On  the  Highlanders,  apud 
Edinburgh  Review ; 

Alison,  The  Nature  and  Principles  of  Taste; 
Stewart,  Philosophical  Essays,  etc. ;  Byron,  Childe 
Harold; 

Sharon  Turner,  History  of  the  Saxons ; 

Dr.  Channing;  Edward  Everett,  Lecture  on 
Greek  Literature ; 

Hindu  Mythology  and  Mathematics,  Edin 
burgh  Review. 


JOURNAL    XIII 

THE   WIDE   WORLD,  No.  12 


7TOV  OTO) 


SAMENESS 

CANTERBURY,  December  14,  1823. 
The  world  changes  its  masters,  but  keeps  its 
own  identity,  and  entails  upon  each  new  family 
of  the  human  race,  that  come  to  garnish  it  with 
names  and  memorials  of  themselves,  —  certain 
indelible  features  and  unchanging  properties. 
Proud  of  their  birth  to  a  new  and  brilliant  life, 
each  presumptuous  generation  boasts  its  domin 
ion  over  nature;  forgetful  that  these  very  spring 
ing  powers  within,  which  nurse  this  arrogance, 
are  part  of  the  fruits  of  that  Nature,  whose  se 
cret  but  omnipotent  influence  makes  them  all 
that  they  are.  The  world  which  they  inhabit  they 
call  their  servant,  but  it  proves  the  real  master. 
Moulded  of  its  clay,  breathing  its  atmosphere, 
fed  of  its  elements,  they  must  wear  its  livery,  the 
livery  of  corruption  and  change,  and  obey  the 
laws  which  all  its  atoms  obey. 


300  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

.  .  .  The  lively  fancy  of  some  men  has  in 
duced  them  to  entertain  fanciful  anticipations 
of  the  progress  of  mankind,  and  of  radical  revo 
lutions  in  their  manners,  passions,  and  pursuits, 
already  forming  in  the  womb  of  ages.  But  the 
quiet  wisdom  of  history,  as  she  winds  along  her 
way  through  sixty  centuries,  speaks  of  no  won 
ders,  and  of  little  glory.  Noah  awoke  from  his 
wine  as  the  sensualist  awakes  to-day,  but  without 
the  Patriarch's  excuse.  Nimrod,  long  of  yore, 
hunted  man  and  beast  from  the  same  furious  im 
pulses  that  drove  Alexander  and  Caesar  and 
Buonaparte  over  Europe.  No  vices,  that  we  ever 
heard  of,  have  grown  old  and  died.  (They  are 
a  vampire  brood  and  live  upon  those  whom  they 
destroy.)  They  outlast  the  pyramids,  and  laugh 
at  Destruction.  The  same  topics  which  the  eldest 
moralist  urged  are  repeated  by  our  preachers 
now,  and  received  with  the  same  repugnance  by 
the  first  and  last  offender.  Suffering  and  sickness 
are  the  same  thing  now  as  of  old.  No  one  pas 
sion  has  become  extinct.  Joy  has  not  altered  its 
nature,  nor  learned  to  last.  Man  has  died  as  a 
leaf.  Families  and  nations  have  mouldered;  but 
all  the  traits  of  their  nature  have  been  faithfully 
transmitted  without  an  irregularity. 

There   is  a  much   vaunted  progress  in   the 


i823]  SELF-ESTEEM  301 

world,  from  the  rudeness  of  savage  habits  to  the 
prosperous  refinement  of  civilized  nations.  But 
the  change  is  very  short  from  the  barbarian  to 
the  polished  gentleman;  at  least,  what  is  cast 
aside  is  very  insignificant  compared  with  what 
remains  —  of  the  dull,  unmoveable  nature.  The 
world,  I  said,  holds  more  dominion  than  it 
yields  —  both  the  natural  and  moral  system.  .  .  . 

SELF-ESTEEM 

I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  bow  my  head 
to  man,  or  cringe  in  my  demeanour.  When  the 
soul  is  disembodied,  he  that  has  nothing  else  but 
a  towering  independence  has  one  claim  to  re 
spect;  whilst  genius  and  learning  may  provoke 
our  contempt  for  their  supple  knees.  When  I 
consider  my  poverty  and  ignorance,  and  the 
positive  superiority  of  talents,  virtues  and  man 
ners,  which  I  must  acknowledge  in  many  men, 
I  am  prone  to  merge  my  dignity  in  a  most  un 
comfortable  sense  of  unworthiness.  But  when  I 
reflect  that  I  am  an  immortal  being,  born  to  a 
destiny  immeasurably  high,  deriving  my  moral 
and  intellectual  attributes  directly  from  Almighty 
God,  and  that  my  existence  and  condition  as  his 
child  must  be  forever  independent  of  the  con- 
troul  or  will  of  my  fellow  children,  —  I  am  ele- 


302  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

vated  in  my  own  eyes  to  a  higher  ground  in  life 
and  a  better  self-esteem.  But,  alas,  few  men  hold 
with  a  strong  grasp  the  sceptre  of  self-govern 
ment  and  can  summon  into  exercise,  at  will,  what 
ever  set  of  feelings  suits  their  judgment  best. 
One  is  apt,  when  in  society,  to  be  tormented 
with  this  odious  abasement,  to  wonder  reluc 
tantly  with  a  foolish  face  of  praise,  and  to  con 
sent,  with  bitter  inward  reproaches,  to  things 
and  thoughts  he  cannot  combat;  and,  in  solitude 
only,  to  be  uplifted  by  this  manly  but  useless 
independence.  A  vigorous  resolution  is  not 
enough  to  conquer  this  abominable  habit.  A 
humble  Christian  would  not  wallow  in  his  hu 
mility.  His  reverence  for  the  Creator  precludes 
an  extravagant  deference  to  the  creature. 

ROMANCE 

Romance  grows  out  of  ignorance,  and  so  is 
the  curse  of  its  own  age,  and  the  ornament  of 
those  that  follow.  Romance  is  never  present, 
always  remote;  not  a  direct,  but  reflected  ray. 
It  is  things  cruel  and  abominable  in  act  that  be 
come  romantic  in  memory.  Unprincipled  ban 
dits  are  Red  Cross  Knights,  and  Templars  and 


i8z3]  ROMANCE  303 

Martyrs  even,  in  the  Song  of  this  Century.1  In 
individual  history,  disagreeable  occurrences  are 
remembered  long  after  with  complacency.  A 
Romantic  Age,  properly  speaking,  cannot  exist. 
Eating  and  drinking,  cold  and  poverty,  speedily 
reduce  men  to  vulgar  animals.  Heaven  and  earth 
hold  nothing  fanciful.  As  mind  advances,  all  be 
comes  practical.  Knowledge  is  a  law-giver,  —  as 
fancy  is  an  abolisher  of  laws,  —  and  introduces 
order  and  limit,  even  into  the  character  of  Deity. 
Nevertheless  Romance  is  mother  of  Know 
ledge —  this  ungrateful  son  that  eats  up  his 
parent.  It  is  only  by  searching  for  wonders  that 
they  found  truth.  Omne  ignotumpro  magnifico ;  if 
the  unknown  was  not  magnified,  nobody  would 
explore.  Europe  would  lack  the  regenerating 
impulse,  and  America  lie  waste,  had  it  not  been 
for  El  Dorado.  The  history  of  all  science  is  alike, 
—  men  guess,  and  to  verify  their  guesses  they  go 
and  see,  and  are  disappointed,  but  bring  back 
truth.  That  fables  should  abound,  seems  not 
to  indicate  any  especial  activity  of  mind,  for, 
though  Greece  had  many,  stupid  Indostan  has 
more.  It  maybe  that  theirs  are  the  traditionary 
ingenuity  of  that  supposed  ancient  parent  people 

I    In  Greece,  such  a  person  was  a  hero  in  the  second  gen 
eration,  a  giant  in  the  third,  and  a  god  in  the  fourth.    (  R.  W.  E. ) 


304  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

of  Asia,  that  Bailey  wrote  of.  She  that  is  not  gay 
or  gaudy,  pitiful  or  capricious,  ( that  liveth  and 
conquereth  forevermore,'  that  is  cthe  strength 
and  the  wisdom,  the  power  and  majesty  of  all 
ages  ' '  is  Truth. 

[CROSSING] 

A  nation,  like  a  tree,  does  not  thrive  well 
till  it  is  engraffed  with  a  foreign  stock. 

[EAST  INDIAN  MYTHOLOGY] 

The  Indian  Pantheon  is  of  prodigious  size; 
330  million  Gods  have  in  it  each  their  heaven, 
or  rather  each  their  parlour,  in  this  immense 
"  goddery."  "In  quantity  and  absurdity  their 
superstition  has  nothing  to  match  it,  that  is  or 
ever  was  in  the  world."  (See  two  articles  on 
Hindu  Mathematics  and  Mythology  in  Vol.  29 
of  the  Edinburgh  Review.) 

BEAUTY 

The  theory  of  Mr.  Alison,  assigning  the 
beauty  of  the  object  to  the  mind  of  the  be 
holder,  is  natural  and  plausible.  This  want  of 
uniformity  is  useful.  It  prevents  us  all  from 
falling  in  love  with  the  same  face,  and  as  the 
I  Esdras  iv,  38,  40.  • 


i823]  BEAUTY  305 

associations  are  accidental,  enables  them  to  hope 
and  to  succeed,  to  whose  form  and  feature  par 
tial  Nature  has  been  niggard  of  her  ornaments. 
A  homely  verse  of  blessed  truth  in  human  his 
tory  saith  :  - 

"  There  lives  no  goose  so  gray,  but  soon  or  late, 
She  finds  some  honest  gander  for  her  mate." 

Byron's  fine  verses  are  conformable  to  this 
theory :  — 

"  Of  its  own  beauty  is  the  mind  diseased, 
And  fevers  into  false  creation,"  etc. 

December  31,  1823. 
I  bear  no  badge,  no  tinsel  star 
Glistens  upon  my  breast, 
Nor  jewelled  crown  nor  pictured  car 
Robs  me  of  rest. 

I  am  not  poor,  but  I  am  proud 
Of  one  inalienable  right, 
Above  the  envy  of  the  crowd  — 
Thought's  holy  light. 

Better  it  is  than  gems  or  gold, 

And  oh,  it  cannot  die, 

But  thought  will  glow  when  the  Sun  grows  cold 

And  mix  with  Deity. 


306  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

1824 

A  Merry  New  Tear  to  the  Wide  World  ! 

IMPULSE  OF  THE   PURITAN  MOVEMENT 

The  theory  of  the  strong  impulse  is  true,  I 
believe,  nor  does  it  matter  at  all  what  sort  of 
being  or  event  impart  it.  Religion  was  always 
one  of  the  strongest.  Few  bodies  or  parties  have 
served  the  world  so  well  as  the  Puritans.  From 
their  irreverent  zeal  came  most  of  the  improve 
ments  of  the  British  Constitution.  It  was  they 
who  settled  North  America.  Bradford  and 
Winthrop  and  Standish,  [the]  Mathers  and 
Jonathan  Edwards,  Otis,  Hawley,  Hancock, 
Adams,  Franklin,  and  whatever  else  of  vigorous 
sense,  or  practical  genius  this  country  shews,  are 
the  issue  of  Puritan  stock.  The  community  of 
language  with  England  has  doubtless  deprived 
us  of  that  original,  characteristic  literary  growth 
that  has  ever  accompanied,  I  apprehend,  the 
first  bursting  of  a  nation  from  the  bud.  Our 
era  of  exploits  and  civilization  is  ripe  enow,  and, 
had  it  not  been  dissipated  by  the  unfortunate 
rage  for  periodical  productions,  our  literature 
should  have  been  born  and  grown  ere  now  to 
a  Greek  or  Roman  stature.  Franklin  is  such  a 


i8z4]  THE    PURITANS  307 

fruit  as  might  be  expected  from  such  a  tree. 
Edwards,  perhaps  more  so.  The  Puritans  had 
done  their  duty  to  literature  when  they  be 
queathed  it  the  Paradise  Lost  and  Comus ;  to 
science,  by  I  to  legislation,  by  l 

;  to  all  the  great  interests  of  hu 
manity,  by  planting  the  New  World  with  their 
thrifty  stock.  If  there  be  such  a  thing  as  the 
propagation  of  moral  and  intellectual  character 
for  many  generations,  the  prosperity  of  America 
might  have  been  safely  foretold.  The  energy  of 
an  abused  people,  whose  eyes  the  light  of  books 
and  progress  of  knowledge  had  just  opened,  has 
a  better  title  to  immortality  than  that  vulgar 
physical  energy  which  some  nations  are  supposed 
to  inherit  from  Gothic  or  Scandinavian  sires. 
Family  pride  engrafted  on  a  pedigree  of  a  thou 
sand  nobles  yields  to  the  pride  of  intellectual 
power,  the  pride  of  indomitable  purpose.  A  few 
stern  leaders  of  that  stern  sect  nourished  in  their 
bosoms  settled  designs  of  reform,  and  gave  to 
the  design  such  shape  and  impulse,  that  when 
they  slept  in  the  earth,  the  hope  failed  not.  It 
was  the  nursling  of  an  iron  race.  Their  prayers, 
thoughts  and  deeds  were  brothers  to  the  senti 
ment.  It  grew  and  throve  mightily  in  England. 
I  These  blanks  occur  in  the  original. 


308  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Its  tremendous  activity  outwent,  doubtless,  the 
expectations  of  its  early  friends  and  the  appre 
hensions  of  its  enemies.  The  old  courses  into 
which  national  feeling  runs  were  broken  up. 
Wise  men  were  aghast  at  the  fury  of  the  con 
vulsion,  and  abandoned  in  so  wild  a  tempest 
the  helm  which  no  human  hand  could  provi 
dently  hold. 

Bear  witness  England  and  France  in  their 
Regicide  Revolutions.  Nameless  and  birthless 
scoundrels  climbed  up  in  the  dark,  and  sat  in 
the  seat  of  the  Stuarts  and  Bourbons.  Crom 
well  and  Napoleon  plucked  them  down  when  the 
light  returned,  and  locked  their  own  yoke  round 
the  necks  of  mankind. 

A  SCHOOL 

Men  are  not  aware,  and  pedagogues  least  of 
all,  how  much  truth  is  in  that  tritest  of  common 
places,  c  that  one  may  study  human  nature  to 
advantage  in  a  school/  When  a  man  has  been 
reading  or  hearing  the  history  of  politic  men,  of 
insinuating  contrivance  which  neutralized  hos 
tility  ;  of  arts  that  brought  the  sturdiest  pre 
judices  to  parley  ;  of  men  whose  eye  and  tongue 
got  them  that  ascendency  over  other  men's 


i824]  A  SCHOOL  309 

minds  which  the  sword  cannot  give —  from  Per 
icles,  through  Augustus  Caesar  and  unnumbered 
Italians,  down  to  Charles  1 1,  and  to  Aaron  Burr 
even,  he  is  often  stung  with  the  desire  of  being 
himself  a  cunning  workman  in  that  art  of  arts  — 
human  nature.1  But  when  he  looks  around  on 
his  acquaintances  in  search  of  materials,  the  force 
of  habit  is  so  strong  that  he  cannot  strip  himself 

i  In  connection  with  these  almost  Machiavellian  aspira 
tions  of  the  young  schoolmaster,  now  labouring  alone  with  the 
administrative  difficulties  of  " lifting  the  truncheon  against  the 
fair-haired  daughters  of  this  raw  city,"  a  few  words  may  be 
quoted  said  by  him,  nearly  fifty  years  later,  to  some  of  them  : 
"  My  brother  was  early  old  ...  at  eighteen  he  offered  him 
self  as  a  grave  and  experienced  professor,  who  had  seen  much 
of  life,  and  was  ready  to  give  the  overflowing  of  his  wisdom  and 
ripe  maturity  to  the  youth  of  his  native  city.  His  mind  was 
method  ;  his  constitution  was  order  ;  and,  though  quiet  and 
amiable,  the  tap  of  his  pencil,  you  will  remember,  could  easily 
enforce  a  silence  which  the  spasmodic  activity  of  other  teachers 
cannot  often  command.  I  confess  to  an  utter  want  of  this  same 
virtue.  I  was  nineteen  [on  joining  William,  two  years  later]  ; 
had  grown  up  without  sisters,  and,  in  my  solitary  and  secluded 
way  of  living,  had  no  acquaintance  with  girls.  I  still  recall  my 
terrors  at  entering  the  school :  my  timidities  at  French,  the  in 
firmities  of  my  cheek,  and  my  occasional  admiration  of  some  of 
my  pupils,  —  absit  invidia  verbo,  —  and  the  occasional  vexa 
tion  when  the  will  of  the  pupils  was  a  little  too  strong  for  the 
will  of  the  teacher."  —  Cabot's  Memoir,  p.  70. 


jio  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

of  the  old  feelings  that  always  arise  at  the  sight 
of  those  well-known  persons,  nor  come  to  con 
sider  them  as  mere  subjects  to  work  upon.  He 
cannot,  if  he  try,  keep  on,  nay,  can  seldom  put 
on,  the  iron  mask  he  would  assume.  Nature  will 
speak  out,  in  spite  of  his  grimace,  in  the  old 
vulgar  frankness  of  a  man  to  his  fellow.  All  his 
projected  artificial  greatness,  his  systematic  cour 
tesy,  which,  under  the  guise  of  kindness,  pride 
devises  to  keep  men  at  bay,  his  promised  self 
controul,  his  wisdom  that  should  drop  only 
aphorisms,  all  falls  quite  down.  Ambition  will 
drop  asleep,  and  the  naked  mediocrity  of  the  man 
is  seen  as  it  was  wont,  and  he  says  and  does  or 
dinary  things  in  a  very  ordinary  way,  and  his 
influence,  which  was  to  be  so  enormous,  is  quite 
insignificant.  Before  these  disappointments  oc 
curred,  the  experiment  wore  a  very  practicable 
air,  and  afterwards  he  always  attributes  the  fail 
ure,  not  to  any  absurdity  or  impossibility  in  the 
scheme  itself,  but  to  the  unconquerable  opposi 
tion  he  had  to  encounter,  in  the  strength  of  the 
habits  he  long  before  formed.  This  in  many  in 
stances  gives  rise  to  the  expression  of  a  wish  to 
go  among  strangers.  The  aspirant  very  naturally 
believes  that  he  shall  get  rid  of  the  associations  by 
escaping  from  their  objects.  It  may  be  he  cheats 


1 824]  ARISTOCRACY  311 

himself.  He  does  not  know  that  the  feelings  he 
blushes  for  are  his  feelings  towards  the  species 
and  not  towards  individuals.  But  if  there  be  any 
hope  for  the  experiment,  and  I  sometimes  think 
there  is  a  great  deal,  it  is  in  the  theatre  of  a 
school.  The  artificial  character  and  deportment 
assumed,  the  unstooping  dignity  which  in  all 
ages  mark  out  the  pedagogue  to  the  reverence  or 
ridicule  of  mankind,  is  eminently  propitious  to 
this  attempt. 

ARISTOCRACY 

Aristocracy  is  a  good  sign.1  Aristocracy  has 
been  the  hue  and  cry  in  every  community  where 
there  has  been  anything  good,  any  society  worth 
associating  with,  since  men  met  in  cities.  It  must 
be  everywhere.  'T  were  the  greatest  calamity  to 
have  it  abolished.  It  went  nearest  to  its  death  in 
the  French  Revolution,  of  all  time.  And  if,  to 
night,  an  earthquake  should  sink  every  patrician 
house  in  the  city,  to-morrow  there  would  be  as 
distinct  an  aristocracy  as  now.  The  only  change 
would  be  that  the  second  sort  would  have  be 
come  first,  but  they  would  be  as  unmingling,  as 

i    Compare    "  Lecture    on    the    Times,"     Nature,    Ad 
dresses,  etc.,  p.  261;  "  Manners,"  Essays,  2d  series,  p.  129; 
"Aristocracy,"  Letters  and  Biographical  Sketches,  p.  31. 


312  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

much  separated  from  the  lower  class,  as  ever  the 
rich  men  of  to-day  were  from  them.  No  man 
would  consent  to  live  in  society  if  he  was  obliged 
to  admit  everybody  to  his  house  that  chose  to 
come.  Robinson  Crusoe's  island  would  be  better 
than  a  city  if  men  were  obliged  to  mix  together 
indiscriminately,  heads  and  points,  with  all  the 
world.  Envy  is  the  tax  which  all  distinction  must 
pay. 

GENIUS  versus  KNOWLEDGE 

January  25,  1824. 

Profound  knowledge  is  good,  but  profound 
genius  is  better,  because,  though  one  obtains 
with  greater  ease  all  the  thoughts  of  all  wise 
men,  which  the  other  obtains  slowly  by  adding, 
himself,  conclusion  to  conclusion,  yet  in  the 
end,  when  both  have  arrived  at  the  same  amount 
of  knowledge,  the  latter  is  much  the  richest. 
.  .  .  They  have  not  only  a  certain  sum  of 
intelligence  to  get,  but  a  great  expedition  to 
perform.  No  petty,  circumscribed  offices  to 
discharge,  whose  narrow  details  daily  return ;  no 
functions  wherein  mechanical  adroitness  avails 
more  than  acquaintance  with  principles,  but  im 
mortal  life  in  an  unbounded  universe.  They  are 
both  to  be  shortly  introduced  into  the  immense 


1 824]  GENIUS  313 

storehouse  of  eternal  truth.  Their  faculties  are 
to  be  tasked  to  solve  the  secret  enigmas  of  sci 
ence  by  whose  successive  development  the  his 
tory  of  Nature  is  to  be  explained.  The  universe, 
to  the  eyes  of  ignorance,  is  but  a  shining  chaos. 
And  when  the  veil  of  flesh  is  rent,  and  the  eyes 
of  the  spirit  open,  human  perception  will  shrink 
from  the  splendour  of  the  spiritual  world.  But 
there  will  be  no  comparison  between  the  fitness 
of  one  and  the  other  of  the  pilgrims  who  are  to 
go  on  that  heavenly  road,  from  knowledge  to 
knowledge.  He  who  has  sharpened  his  faculties 
by  long  and  painful  thought  enters,  in  a  mighty 
sphere,  but  upon  an  accustomed  task.  Education 
has  armed  him  in  the  panoply  of  thought.  He 
moves  gracefully,  like  one  at  home  in  that  etherial 
country.  But  his  companion,  whose  habits  have 
not  been  similar,  though  he  recognizes  some 
bright  forms  in  the  scenery,  is  a  stranger  to  the 
customs  and  the  tongue  of  that  glorious  land,  and 
must  walk  among  its  wonders  in  stupid  amaze 
ment  long  ere  their  order  is  seen,  and  must 
forever  loiter  at  a  distance  from  the  other.  Con 
sidered  with  relation  to  our  whole  existence,  that 
habits  of  thought  are  better  than  knowledge  — 
was  the  original  position  of  my  rhetoric. 


3 H  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

FRIENDSHIP 

Sympathy  is  the  wine  of  life.  A  man  has  com 
fort  in  a  friend  when  he  is  absent  and  when  he 
is  nigh.  "  The  panic  of  physical  strength  rein- 
forceth  the  onset,"  and  so  is  the  society  of  two 
men  dearer  to  them  for  the  interval  of  interrup 
tion.  Friends  fill  that  interval  with  pleasant 
thoughts  which  borrow  their  charm  from  the 
magic  of  this  gentle  sentiment.  They  treasure 
up  the  occurrences  and  thoughts,  the  times  and 
chances  that  were  mixed  in  their  cup  of  life,  to 
regale  each  other  with  the  feast  of  memory. 
Words  may  be  free,  thought  may  be  free,  and 
the  heart  laid  bare  to  your  friend,  but,  neverthe 
less,  the  freedom,  even  of  friendship,  hath  a  limit, 
and  beware  how  he  passes  it.  ... 

SOCIETY 

Men  pay  a  price  for  admission  to  the  civiliza 
tion  of  society.  Some  pay  twenty,  thirty,  forty, 
or  fifty  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  be  permitted  to 
take  certain  high  and  higher  seats  therein.  My 
mother  and  I  might  subsist  on  two  hundred  [dol 
lars],  but  we  are  willing  to  buy  with  twelve  or 
thirteen  times  as  much  a  more  convenient  and 
reputable  place  in  the  world.  Every  man  who 


1 824]  BEGINNINGS  315 

values  this  bargain  which  he  drives  so  zealously 
must  give  the  whole  weight  of  his  support  to  the 
public,  civil,  religious,  literary  institutions  which 
make  it  worth  his  toil.  Keep  the  moral  fountains 
pure.  Open  schools.  Guard  the  Sabbath,  if  you 
be  a  member  or  lover  of  civil  society,  as  you 
would  not  tremble  at  the  report  of  its  earthquake 
convulsions,  and  be  shocked  at  the  noise  of  its 
fall. 

BEGINNINGS 

It  is  excellent  advice  both  in  writing  and  in 
action  to  avoid  a  too  great  elevation  at  first.  Let 
one's  beginnings  be  temperate  and  unpretend 
ing,  and  the  more  elevated  parts  will  rise  from 
these  with  a  just  and  full  effect.  We  were  not 
made  to  breathe  oxygen,  or  to  talk  poetry,  or  to 
be  always  wise.  We  are  sorry  habitants  of  an 
imperfect  world,  and  it  will  not  do  for  such  beings 
to  take  admiration  by  storm.  One  who  would 
take  his  friend  captive  by  eloquent  discourse 
must  forego  the  vulgar  vanity  of  a  great  outset, 
which  cannot  last,  but  dwindles  down  to  flatness 
and  disgust.  He  must  lull  the  suspicion  of  art 
asleep  by  the  unambitious  use  of  familiar  com 
monplaces.  He  must  be  willing  to  say, "  How  do 
you  do?  "  and  "What's  the  news  ?  "  He  must 


316  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

not  disdain  to  be  interested  in  the  weather  or  the 
time  of  day.  And  when  the  talk  has  gradually 
got  into  those  channels  where  he  wished  to  lead 
it,  knowledge  that  is  in  place  and  fervour  that  is 
well-timed  will  have  their  reward. 

ACTION    AND    THOUGHT 

Forms  are  not  unimportant  in  society.  It  is 
supremely  necessary  that  you  regulate  men's  con 
duct,  whether  you  can  affect  their  principles  or 
no.  For  the  thoughts  of  the  mass  of  men  are 
ever  in  a  crude,  ungrown,  unready  state,  but 
their  actions  regular  and  ready.  They  must  act ; 
but  there  is  no  compulsion  to  think.  Therefore, 
when  the  understanding  is  sluggish  and  indicates 
no  course  of  conduct,  they  are  forced  to  obey 
example,  and  surrender  the  whole  ordering  of  life 
to  the  judgments  of  other  men.  Thus  a  whole 
community  go  to  church;  acquiesce  in  the  ex 
istence  of  a  certain  law,  or  in  the  government  of 
a  certain  ruler,  while,  if  their  hearts  were  all  read, 
it  might  appear  that  these  institutions  had  but 
a  few  strong  favourers,  and  that,  for  the  rest, 
each  man  leaned  on  his  neighbour  ;  nay,  a  critical 
inquiry  should  make  it  plain  that  the  majority  of 
opinions  rebelled  in  secret  against  the  custom 
complied  with,  but  that  doubts  were  too  shadowy 


i824]    DEARTH    OF   THOUGHT      317 

and  unformed  to  venture  to  challenge  an  old 
established  mode. 

Men,  in  fact,  so  openly  borrow  their  common 
modes  of  thinking,  i.e.  those  outside  modes  on 
which  their  actions  depend  (for,  when  they  act  in 
a  certain  way,  they  commonly  go  armed  with 
some  obvious  reason,  whether  they  believe  it  or 
no)  that  it  is  surprising  how  small  an  amount  of 
originality  of  mind  is  required  to  circulate  all  the 
thought  in  a  community.  The  common  conver 
sation  that  has  place  in  a  city  for  a  year  does  not 
embrace  more  intelligence  than  one  vigorous 
thinker  might  originate;  and  one  who  carefully 
considers  the  flow  and  progress  of  opinion  from 
man  to  man  and  rank  to  rank  through  society, 
will  soon  discover  that  three  or  four  masters  pre 
sent  the  people  with  all  that  moderate  stock  of 
conclusions  upon  politics,  religion,  commerce, 
and  sentiment  which  goes  current.  The  kingdom 
of  thought  is  a  proud  aristocracy. 

BURKE,    FOX,    PITT 

England  had  three  great  names  in  her  parlia 
ment  [1790]  — BURKE,  Fox,  and  PITT.  The 
two  latter  interest  us  by  the  engaging  shew  of 
youthful  might.  They  seem  to  be  beardless 
boys,  abandoning  their  college  with  youthful 


318  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

impatience  to  mix  with  men  ;  they  come  among 
the  gray-haired  statesmen,  who  are  aghast  at 
the  storm  which  gathers  around,  and  fearlessly 
grasp  and  hurl  the  thunderbolts  of  power  with 
graceful  majesty.  Fox  took  his  seat  in  parlia 
ment  at  nineteen  years  of  age.  Pitt  was  prime 
minister  of  England  at  twenty-four.  Burke,  who 
lacked  the  aristocratical  interest  to  back  him, 
which  Fox,  who  descended  from  Henry  IV  of 
Navarre,  and  Pitt,  who  was  son  of  Chatham, 
could  muster — was  somewhat  later.  The  two 
former  were  friends  ;  true-hearted  and  noble 
friends,  so  matched  as  the  world  hath  seldom 
seen,  and  so  parted  as  we  would  hardly  have 
had  it  otherwise.  They  were  two  large  and 
philosophical  understandings,  both  lit  with  the 
fire  of  eloquence.  Fox,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
lamented  in  parliament  that  an  uninterrupted 
friendship  of  twenty-three  years  should  be 
invaded  by  the  intemperance  of  a  debate,  and 
that  his  friend  should  have  applied  such  violent 
and  angry  epithets  to  his  name.  Burke  said  he 
did  not  recollect  any  epithets.  The  reply  of  Fox 
was  in  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman.  "  My  honour 
able  friend  has  forgotten  the  epithets,  they  are 

out  of  his  mind,  and  they  are  out  of  mine  for- 

H 
ever. 


1 8z4]     BURKE,  PITT,  AND  FOX       319 

Burke's  principle  was  dearer  to  him  even  than 
his  friend,  and  he  broke  with  a  stoic's  heart 
his  ancient  attachment.  Burke  said  afterwards 
of  Fox,  "  he  was  a  man  made  to  be  loved."  And 
Goldsmith  said  of  Burke, 

u  Who,  born  for  the  universe,  narrowed  his  mind, 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind." 

It  is  not  easy,  for  a  common  mind,  perhaps 
it  is  not  possible,  to  appreciate  this  magnani 
mous  sacrifice  (of  his  friendship).  No  man  per 
haps  was  ever  fitter  to  enjoy  fully  this  best  and 
purest  of  pleasures.  F[ox]  andB[urke]  agreed 
upon  the  American  [question],  and  their  fore 
sight  triumphed  over  their  adversaries,  who 
laughed  at  the  "vagrant  Congress,  one  Han 
cock,  one  Adams,  and  their  crew,"  who  spurned 
them,  when  they  "might  have  been  led,"  as 
Franklin  told  them,  "by  a  thread,"  until  they 
broke  chains  and  scattered  armaments  like  flaxen 
strings.  In  the  dark  tempest  of  the  French 
Revolution,  Pitt  was  "the  pilot  that  weathered 
the  storm."  Fox,  in  Westminster  Abbey,  lies 
eighteen  inches  from  Pitt,  and  close  by  Chatham. 

Pitt,  Fox,  Burke:  —  since  one  was  in  office, 
one  in  favour,  and  one  in  neither,  perhaps  it  is 
just  to  say,  Pitt  was  a  practical  statesman,  Fox,  a 


320  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

theoretical  statesman,  and  Burke,  a  philosophic 
statesman. 


FRANKLIN 

Franklin  was  political  economist,  a  natural 
philosopher,  a  moral  philosopher,  and  a  states 
man  ;  invests  and  dismisses  subtle  theories  (e.  g. 
of  the  Earth)  with  extraordinary  ease.  Uncon 
scious  of  any  mental  effort  in  detailing  the  pro- 
foundest  solutions  of  phenomena,  and  therefore 
makes  no  parade.  He  writes  to  a  friend  when 
[aged]  80,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  was  intruding  among 
posterity  when  I  ought  to  be  abed  and  asleep. 
I  look  upon  death  to  be  as  necessary  to  the 
constitution  as  sleep.  We  shall  rise  refreshed  in 
the  morning."  "  Many,"  said  he,  "  forgive  in 
juries,  but  none  ever  forgave  contempt."  (See 
Edinburgh  Review.)  That  age  abounded  in 
greatness,  —  Carnot,  Moreau,  Bonaparte,  etc.; 
Johnson,  Gibbon,  etc. ;  Washington,  etc. 

Institutions  are  a  sort  of  homes.  A  man  may 
wander  long  with  profit,  if  he  come  home  at 
last,  but  a  perpetual  vagrant  is  not  honoured. 
Men  may  alter  and  improve  their  laws,  so  they 
fix  them  at  last. 


1823]  MISCELLANEOUS  321 

"Humanity  does  not  consist  in  a  squeamish 
ear."  Fox. 

Men  in  this  age  do  not  produce  new  works, 
but  admire  old  ones;  are  content  to  leave  the 
fresh  pastures  awhile  and  to  chew  the  cud  of 
thought  in  the  shade. 

"A  great  empire,  like  a  great  cake,  is  most 
easily  diminished  at  the  edges."  FRANKLIN. 

[A  few  extracts  from  entries,  made  by  Emer 
son  in  1823  in  his  Blotting  Book  XVIII  (ad), 
are  appended  here.  These  entries  are  largely 
his  notes  on  his  reading,,  or  quotations  from 
the  authors.  The  verse  which  follows  is,  how 
ever,  original.] 

When  Fortune  decks  old  Learning's  naked  shrine 
And  bids  his  cobwebbed  libraries  be  fine, 
Young  Merit  smooths  his  aspect  to  a  smile, 
And  fated  Genius  deigns  to  live  awhile. 

The  Prophet,  speaking  of  the  Egyptians, 
says — "Their  strength  is  to  sit  still."  This  is 
a  profound  remark  in  its  application  to  certain 
states  and  the  characters  of  individuals.  It  may 
be  added  in  confirmation  of  the  prophet's  asser- 


322  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

tion,  that  it  was  proverbially  impossible  (in  the 
III  century)  to  extort  a  secret  from  an  Egyp 
tian  by  torture.1 

THE    FARMER 

"We  may  talk  what  we  please  of  lilies  and 
lions  rampant,  and  spread  eagles  in  fields  cTor 
or  $  argent ;  but  if  heraldry  were  guided  by 
reason,  a  plough  in  a  field  arable  would  be  the 
most  noble  and  ancient  arms."  COWLEY. 

Agriculture  is  the  venerable  Mother  of  all 
the  arts,  and  compared  with  the  pastoral  or  the 
hunting  life  is  certainly  friendly  to  the  mind ;  it 
is  next  to  commerce  in  this  respect,  but  must 
necessarily  precede  commerce  in  the  growth  of 
society.  Virtue  and  good  sense  and  acontempla- 
tive  turn  are  universally  characteristic  of  an  agri 
cultural  people.  In  the  city,  "those  who  think 
must  govern  those  who  toil "  ;  in  the  country, 
the  labourers  both  toil  and  govern. 

i  This  proverb  was  a  favourite  of  Mr.  Emerson's  through 
life,  variously  applied.  When  it  was  proposed  to  him  to  make 
a  visit,  perhaps,  or  to  venture  some  unusual  experiment  on  the 
farm,  or  unwonted  household  expenditure,  he  would  smile  and 
say,  "  The  strength  of  the  Egyptians  is  to  sit  still." 


i8z3]        FORTUNATE    IMAGES        323 

PHILOSOPHIC    IMAGINATION 

Buckminster  was  remarkable  for  a  "philoso 
phic  imagination."  l  It  is  the  most  popular  and 
useful  quality  which  a  modern  scholar  can  pos 
sess  to  become  a  favourite  in  society.  It  imparts 
a  spirit  of  liberal  philosophy  which  can  impress 
itself  by  the  applying  of  beautiful  images.  Its 
advantage  is  owing  to  the  circumstance  that 
moral  reflections  are  vague  and  fugitive,  whereas 
the  most  vulgar  mind  can  readily  retain  a  strik 
ing  image  from  the  material  world.  Many  men 
might  say  "that  the  labours  of  the  mind  must 
be  occasionally  relaxed,"  and  it  was  easily  for 
gotten,  but  when  one  said  "  Non  semper  arcum 
tendit  Apollo"  it  served  to  imprint  the  truth, 
and  is  ever  remembered.  That  "great  minds  are 
unlike  each  other  and  do  not  appear  twice  in 
the  world,"  —  men  might  hear  and  forget,  until 
it  was  established  by  the  adage  that  "  Nature  has 
broken  the  mould  in  which  she  made  them." 
It  is  better  for  popularity  than  scientific  sagacity, 
for  it  is  more  easily  appreciated.  One  is  at  a 

i  Probably  the  younger  Buckminster  (Joseph  Stevens),  the 
pastor  of  the  Brattle  Street  Church,  contemporary  and  friend 
of  Mr.  Emerson's  father,  and  associated  with  him  in  the  An 
thology,  the  first  important  literary  magazine  of  New  England. 


324  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

loss  to  say  if  Bacon  had  it  or  no  ;  he  is  not  pre 
cisely  the  mind  at  which  the  term  points,  because 
he  had  more  of  the  philosopher  than  the  poet, 
which  is  the  reverse  of  Everett,  Buckminster, 
Bancroft  —  and  is  superior  to  them. 

LUXURY 

Saw  you  ever  luxury  ?  He  is  not  attired  in 
gold,  but  in  green,  and  his  diadem  is  not  of 
gems,  but  of  wild  flowers. 

LETTER    TO    HIS    AUNT,    MARY    MOODY    EMERSON 

CANTERBURY,  November  n,  1823. 
As  to  metaphysical  difficulties  that  stagger 
us,  —  does  not  the  Divinity  make  himself  amen 
able,  at  least  in  those  works  and  laws  that  come 
under  our  eye,  to  the  (cultivated}  reason  which 
he  has  lit  up  in  his  creatures?  If  his  material 
operations  be  irregular,  as  in  the  promulgation 
of  gospel,  we  say,  it  is  to  aid  some  mighty 
moral  design.  But  if  his  moral  operations  be 
irregular  (or  appear  so  to  our  profoundest 
study);  if  justice  be  mixed  with  injustice;  if 
unequal  conditions  be  yoked  under  the  same 
decree ;  what  shall  his  creatures  do  ?  Can  they 
affix  an  unshaken  and  accurate  sense  to  moral 
distinctions,  when  from  the  insecure  and  unsatis- 


i823]      REASON    IN    RELIGION        325 

factory  tenure  by  which  we  hold  all  our  ideas,  our 
firmest  faith  in  intellectual  and  moral  truths  some 
times  passes  away  like  the  morning  cloud  before 
the  queries  of  the  sceptic  ?  It  was  one  of  my 
youngest  thoughts  that  God  would  not  confound 
the  weak-eyed  understandings  of  his  children 
whilst  they  read  on  earth  the  alphabet  of  morals. 

Do  people  feel  firmer  or  fainter  in  their  faith 
as  they  grow  older  and  think  more  ?  .  .  .  Does 
not  the  philosophy  of  moments  ever  tamper 
with  the  faith  of  years?  Does  not  the  solid 
universe,  Memory,  the  economy  of  matter,  the 
economy  of  mind,  sometimes  so  fade  into  a  false 
mist  that  it  is  possible  it  may  indeed  be  no  more 
substantial  ?  There  seem  to  be  two  ways  of 
shaking  off  this  nightmare,  viz.,  a  larger  ac 
quaintance  with  matter,  or  with  mind.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  An  acquaintance  with  mind,  indefatiga 
ble  pursuit  and  accumulation  of  all  demonstrable 
truths ;  science,  deep  and  high  and  broad  as 
Newton's,  may  ally  consciousness  to  so  many 
certain  truths ;  may  extend  our  vantage  ground 
of  existence  so  widely  and  tie  it  with  so  many 
fast  knots  to  such  a  various  multitude  of  thoughts 
as  to  confirm  our  hold.  A  man  with  one  pro 
position  can  hardly  go  far  in  its  illustration  or 
defence,  and  his  knowledge  increases  in  a  far 


326  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

faster  proportion  than  the  number  of  single 
propositions  he  amasses,1  because  he  continu 
ally  discerns  new  connexions  and  inferences 
growing  out  of  and  between  them.  And  New 
ton's  bright  eye,  which  glanced  in  every  direc 
tion  into  the  vast  Universe,  and  saw  each 
fact  corroborated  by  correspondencies  spring 
ing  up  on  every  side,  was  perhaps  wholly  ab 
sorbed  in  the  extent,  the  consistency  and  beauty 
of  the  show,  too  much  absorbed  to  have  leisure 
or  inclination  to  doubt.  Not  to  be  despised  was 
that  grave,  modest,  profound  old  man,  that  ape 
whom  angels  shew;2  he  is  a  compensation  to 
the  race  for  many  generations  of  darkness,  and 
countries  of  barbarism.  We  can  set  Newton 
over  against  Juggernaut.  —  Nevertheless,  ad 
miration  is  the  foible  of  ignorant  and  sanguine 
minds  :  admiration  paid  by  a  few  gazers  to  one 
sage's  intellectual  supremacy  will  hardly  be 
counted  in  the  eye  of  the  Philanthropists  any 

1  V.  Stewart.    (R.  W.  E.) 

2  The  expression  "  ape  whom  angels  shew  "  is  probably  a 
quotation  from  his  Aunt's  letter,  original,  or  borrowed  by  her. 
Her  rhetoric  was  daring.     In  a  later  letter  from  her,  speaking 
of  angels,  she  writes,    "They  may  shew  a  Newton  as  an  ape 
of  their  knowledge ,  but  these  sublime  feelings  are  of  their  very 
nature." 


i823]  METRIC   SYSTEM  327 

atonement  for  the  squalid  and  desperate  igno 
rance  of  untold  millions  who  breathe  the  breath 
of  misery  in  Asia,  Africa,  yea,  in  the  great 
globe.  Why  is  this  ? 

METRIC    SYSTEM 

Weights  and  measures  are  made  interesting 
by  the  philosophical  radicalism  with  which  the 
French  Revolutionary  authorities  took  up  the 
subject,  and  by  Mr.  Adams's  report.  After  in 
specting  a  decimal  system,  the  mere  recitation 
of  one  of  the  vulgar  tables  (of  Long  Measure 
for  example)  is  ridiculous.  .  .  .  The  ancient 
systems  which  were  arbitrary  like  ours,  cannot 
be  now  accurately  ascertained.  But  if  such  an 
order  were  once  established  as  this,  it  would  be 
easy  to  perpetuate  it  through  any  political  con 
vulsions,  and  to  recover  it  if  lost.  But  so  in 
veterate  is  men's  prejudice  for  a  pound,  and  so 
shocking  is  the  innovation  of  a  barbarous  kilo- 
metre,  that  this  philanthropic  plan  is  premature. 

A  Salem  merchant  who  traded  with  the  na 
tives  of  one  of  the  East  India  islands  for  spices 
is  said  to  have  made  some  thousands  in  this 
manner.  The  natives  had  no  pound  weight 
to  measure  their  spices  with.  "Oh,"  said  the 
American,  "my  foot  weighs  just  a  pound,"  and 


20 


328  JOURNAL  [AGE 

put  it  on  the  scale.  As  may  be  supposed,  he 
got  5  Ib.  weight  or  more  at  the  price  of  each 
pound. 

Earl  Carnarvon's  speech  (before  the  House 
of  Peers,  Dec.  23,  1678)  is  a  curious  piece  of 
English  history:1 — 

"  My  Lords,  I  don't  know  Latin,  but  I  do 
know  English,  and  I  know  something  of  Eng 
lish  history;  and  I  know  also  what  has  become 
of  those  who  have  charged  themselves  with  im 
peachments.  I  will  begin  no  farther  back  than 
the  latter  part  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  time.  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh,  your  Lordships  all  know,  ran 
down  the  Earl  of  Essex;  and  you  all  know  what 
became  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Chancellor 

I  The  version  given  in  the  journal  is  from  memory  and 
full  of  errors  and  omissions.  So  I  give  it  in  the  form  he  gave 
it  (in  his  book  of  Extracts,  T),  altered  by  him  to  make  it  ef 
fective  as  a  declamation,  for  which  purpose  he  taught  it  to  me. 
His  note  on  the  speech  is  as  follows  :  "It  was  proposed  to 
impeach  the  Earl  of  Danby.  While  the  House  of  Peers  were 
deliberating  on  this  subject,  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon  entered, 
having  just  come  from  a  drunken  revel,  where  he  had  sworn 
over  his  claret,  that,  although  he  had  never  spoken  before  in 
the  House,  he  would  go  there  directly  and  make  a  speech 
upon  whatever  subject  should  happen  to  be  before  the  house." 
(E.  W.  E.) 


i823]      CARNARVON'S   SPEECH        329 

Bacon,  you  all  know,  ran  down  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh;  and  your  Lordships  all  know  what 
became  of  the  Chancellor.  The  Duke  of  Buck 
ingham  ran  down  Lord  Bacon;  and  you  all 
know  what  became  of  the  Duke  of  Bucking 
ham.  Sir  Thomas  Wentworth,  afterwards  Earl 
of  Strafford,  ran  down  the  Duke  of  Bucking 
ham  ;  and  you  all  know  what  became  of  him. 
Sir  Harry  Vane  ran  down  the  Earl  of  Strafford; 
and  your  Lordships  all  know  what  became  of 
Sir  Harry  Vane.  Sir  Edward  Hyde  ran  down 
Sir  Harry  Vane;  and  your  Lordships  all  know 
what  became  of  Sir  Edward  Hyde.  The  Earl 
of  Danby  ran  down  Sir  Edward  Hyde  ;  and 
what  will  become  of  the  Earl  of  Danby  your 
Lordships  only  can  tell.  But  let  the  man  dare 
to  present  himself  who  will  run  down  the  Earl 
of  Danby, — and  we  shall  soon  see  what  will 
become  of  that  man." 

I  Mr.  Emerson  refers  for  the  speech  to  Cobbett's  Parlia 
mentary  History  of  England,  vol.  iv,  page  (or  rather,  col 
umn)  1073,  where,  in  the  record  of  this  impeachment,  it  is 
referred  to  as  "the  Earl  of  Carnarvon's  remarkable  speech 
thereon."  Cobbett  states  that  the  Earl  had,  at  the  revel,  been 
«'  excited  to  display  his  abilities  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
who  meant  no  favour  to  the  Treasurer,  but  only  ridicule." 
So,  at  the  end,  "  this  being  pronounced  with  a  remarkable 
humour  and  tone,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  both  surprised 


330  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

CHAUNCY    AND    WHITEFIELD 

"Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Whitefield ? " 
said  Dr.  Chauncy.  "  I  'm  going  to  Boston,  Sir." — 
"  I  'm  very  sorry  for  it,"  said  Dr.  C.  "  So  is  the 
Devil,"  replied  the  eloquent  preacher.1 

EXTRACTS    FROM    A    LETTER    FROM     HIS    AUNT 
MARY 

..."  Is  the  Muse  become  faint  and  mean? 
Ah  well  she  may,  and  better,  far  better,  leave 
you  wholly  than  weave  a  garland  for  one  whose 
destiny  leads  to  sensation  rather  than  to  senti 
ment;  whose  intervals  of  mentality  seem  rather 
spent  in  collecting  facts  than  energising  itself 
— in  unfolding,  imperating,  its  budding  powers 

and  disappointed,  cried  out,  '  The  man  is  inspired  !  and  claret 
has  done  the  business.'  The  majority,  however,  was  against 
the  commitment." 

I  Rev.  Charles  Chauncy,  pastor  of  the  First  Church,  was 
a  divine  respected  and  beloved  in  Boston  in  the  latter  half  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  It  seems  that  the  popular  excitement 
wrought  by  George  Whitefield,  the  eloquent  English  revivalist, 
with  his  reactionary  influence  towards  Calvinism,  troubled  the 
good  Doctor,  and  moreover  the  emotional  and  sensational 
quality  of  his  preaching  disturbed  his  Boston  sensibilities. 

Mr.  Emerson,  in  his  Essay  on  "Old  Age"  (Society  and 
Solitude),  gives  the  testimony  of  President  John  Adams  as  to 
Whitefield' s  eloquence. 


i823]   MISS  EMERSON'S  LETTER  331 

after  the  sure  yet  far  distant  glories  of  what 
Plato,  Plotinus,  and  such  godlike  worthies,  who, 
in  the  language  of  St.  Austin,  showed  that  none 
could  be  a  true  philosopher  that  was  not  ab 
stracted  in  spirit  from  all  the  effects  of  the  body, 
etc.,  etc.,  more  than  I  dare  to  impose.  Yet  it  is 
verily  valuable  to  find  the  principles  of  the  hu 
man  constitution  the  same,  when  developed  by 
philosophy  in  all  ages  and  nations — to  find  that, 
after  all  its  dissections,  at  bottom  is  an  insatiable 
thirst  for  what  they  denominate  c  a  state  of  mind 
being  unable  to  stay,  after  its  highest  flights,  till 
it  arrive  at  a  being  of  unbounded  greatness  and 
worth!'  O,  would  the  Muse  forever  leave  you 
till  you  had  prepared  for  her  a  celestial  abode. 
Poetry,  that  soul  of  all  that  pleases  —  the  philo 
sophy  of  the  world  of  sense — yet  the  Iris — the 
bearer  of  the  resemblances  of  uncreated  beauty  ! 
Yet  with  these  gifts  you  flag — your  Muse  is  mean 
because  the  breath  of  fashion  has  not  puffed  her. 
You  are  not  inspired  in  heart,  with  a  gift  for  im 
mortality,  because  you  are  the  nurseling  of  sur 
rounding  circumstances.  You  become  yourself 
a  part  of  the  events  which  make  up  the  ordinary 
life — even  that  part  of  the  economy  of  living 
which  relates,  in  the  order  of  things,  necessarily 
to  private  and  social  affections,  rather  than  to  pub- 


332  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

lie  and  disinterested.  Still,  there  is  an  approach 
ing  period  I  dread  worse  than  this  sweet  stagna 
tion,  when  the  Muse  shall  be  dragged  into  eclat. 
.  .  .  Then  will  be  the  time  when  the  guardian 
angel  will  tremble.  In  case  of  failing,  of  becoming 
deceived  and  vain,  there  will  yet  remain  a  hope 
that  your  fall  may  call  down  some  uncommon 
effort  of  mercy,  and  you  may  rise  from  the  love 
of  deceitful  good  to  that  of  real.  Had  you  been 
placed  in  circumstances  of  hard  fare  for  the  belly 
— labour  and  solitude — it  does  seem  you  would 
have  been  training  for  those  most  insidious  ene 
mies  which  will  beset  your  public  life  on  every 
hand.  How  little  you  will  be  armed  with  the 
saying  of  a  French  divine  of  highest  order,  cthat 
it  is  safest  for  a  popular  character  to  know  but 
part  of  what  is  said.' 

You  provoke  me  to  prose  by  eulogising  Caesar 
and  Cicero.  True,  the  speech  you  quote  (I  be 
lieve —  cYou  bear  Caesar  and  his  fortune')  is 
sublime,  and  instanced  by  Christians,  but  for  him, 
for  that  tyrant  (whose  only  charm,  the  love  of 
letters,  was  not  accompanied  by  enthusiasm)  it 
was  mere  rant,  or  he  was  thinking  of  the  egg 
from  which  Venus  sprung  (which  was  preserved 
by  fishes  and  hatched  by  doves)  to  whom  he 
was  a  most  debauched  devotee.  As  to  Cicero, 


i8z3]      AN  AUNT'S   CRITICISM       333 

one  wants  to  admire  him,  but  different  accounts 
forbid — tho'  none  are  favourable  enow  ever  to 
place  him  one  moment  beyond  the  imperious 
controul  of  passing  events.  Dejected  in  adver 
sity,  and  without  any  respite  from  age  or  expe 
rience —  pursuing,  begging,  other  people  to  let 
him  be  praised.  Is  not  this  enough  to  neutralize 
those  effects  for  the  public,  as  we  know  not  their 
motive  to  be  beyond  emulation  ?  His  eloquence, 
it  is  true,  is  glorious,  but  himself  remains  an  ob 
ject  of  pity,  and  the  only  apology  for  becoming 
the  meanest  of  scavengers  is  that  in  company 
with  genius  is  the  love  of  fame,  and  he  knew  of 
no  object  hereafter  to  feed  it.  Such  are  the  men 
you  are  more  excited  by  than  by  your  heroic 
ancestor!1  cPomp  of  circumstance/  Merciful 
Creator!  this  child,  so  young,  so  well  born  and 
bred,  yet  so  wedded  to  sounds  and  places  where 
human  passions  triumphed !  When  he  knows 
that  spots,  the  most  famous  even  by  thine  own 
appearances,  are  swept  out  of  record  !  .  .  . 

i  Rev.  William  Emerson,  the  young  minister  of  Concord. 
This  eager  and  eloquent  "  Son  of  Liberty,"  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  Revolution,  served  as  chaplain  in  the  Provincial  Camp  at 
Cambridge,  and  later  was  regularly  appointed  chaplain  of  a 
Massachusetts  regiment  at  Ticonderoga,  where  he  contracted 
the  fever  of  which  he  died. 


334  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Whoever  wants  power  must  pay  for  it.  How 
unnatural  —  one  man  asks  another  to  give  him 
up  his  rights;  this  is  the  nakedness  of  the  traffic, 
and  if  there  be  ever  so  much  fraud  and  violence, 
after  ages  produce  slaves  enow  to  celebrate  their 
conquerors.  As  to  words  or  languages  beingso  im 
portant  —  I  '11  have  nothing  of  it.  The  images, 
the  sweet  immortal  images  are  within  us  —  born 
there,  our  native  right,  and  sometimes  one  kind 
of  sounding  word  or  syllable  awakens  the  instru 
ment  of  our  souls,  and  sometimes  another.  But 
we  are  not  slaves  to  sense  any  more  than  to 
political  usurpers,  but  by  fashion  and  imbecility. 
Aye,  if  I  understand  you,  so  you  think. 

Sorry  you  meditate  a  reform  in  drama,  which 
will  oblige  you  to  go  thro'  such  bogs  and  fens  and 
sloughs  of  passion  and  crime.  True,  one  ought 
to  sacrifice  himself  to  the  public,  but  how  long 
and  poisonous  the  execution  compared  to  that 
of  other  martyrs  !  Still,  if  by  plucking  up  those 
principles  of  human  nature  which  have  made 
dramas  agreeable  to  the  populace,  and  which 
have  been  sometimes  considered  as  drains  to 
human  vices,  or  preventatives  to  worse  places, 
— if  you  pull  down  old  establishments  which 
have  found  place  in  almost  every  age  and  nation 
of  cultivated  or  semi-barbarous  life,  —  why  may 


i823]      AN   AUNT'S   CRITICISM        335 

you  not  undertake  it?  To  men  in  general,  it 
would  seem  gigantic.  And  to  me,  who  am,  if 
possible,  more  ignorant  on  the  history  and  char 
acter  of  drama  than  any  other  subjects  [it]  seems 
a  less  useful  exercise,  as  respects  the  reformer, 
than  any  scientific  or  literary  pursuit.  Mathe 
matics  and  languages  remain  with  one  for  use 
and  ornament,  and  all  the  universe  of  facts  which 
are  connecting  will  some  time  or  other  prove 
something;  and  if  they  don't,  they  are  apologies 
for  higher.  The  picture  of  a  bud  is  better  than 
the  idle  jokes  and  saturnine  gossip  of  ordinary 
society. 

There  is  one  idea  of  dramatic  representation 
interesting,  that  of  Eichhorn  respecting  the 
Apocalypse  of  St.  John.  The  learned  German, 
you  know,  believes  all  passed  in  Patmos  in 
scenic  order.  And  why  may  not  this  be  a  key  to 
many  revelations?  In  the  infancy  of  the  world, 
men  were  taught  by  signs.  It  would  seem  that 
the  higher  and  last-made  instructions  from 
Heaven  applied  to  Reason  as  well  as  sentiment, 
and  I  am  glad  to  escape  from  all  sorts  of  earthly 
dramas." 

PRIESTCRAFT 

Men  are  so  essentially  alike,  that,  if  you  do 
not  radically  alter  their  institutions,  you  will  find 


336  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

the  same  habits  recurring  monotonously  from 
century  to  century.  Friars  and  monks  of  the  Ro 
man  priesthood  very  closely  resemble  the  coun 
try  clergy  of  New  England,  notwithstanding  the 
very  considerable  progress  of  public  opinion 
through  a  score  of  generations.  The  town  clergy, 
no  doubt,  are  a  vast  many  degrees  higher,  but 
they  may  perhaps  fitly  represent  the  eminent 
abbots  whom  public  admiration  elevated  to  the 
episcopal  and  archiepiscopal  thrones  of  Rome, 
Constantinople,  Paris,  and  London.  If  one  be 
curious  enough  to  notice  the  topics  and  turn  of 
conversation,  and  the  ability  wherewith  'tis  man 
aged  by  clergymen  in  mixed  or  chosen  com 
pany,  I  think  he  will  not  be  struck  with  any  dis 
tinct  marks  of  excellence,  or  see  that  thoughts 
are  broached  to-day  which  might  not  be  sug 
gested  in  the  tea-table  talk  of  a  thousand  years 
ago. 

Whitefield  was  as  good  and  as  bad  as  Peter 
the  Hermit;  Mr.  Channing,  and  Mr.  Norton, 
and  Mr.  Buckminster  make  good  the  place  of 
Athanasius,  St.  Cyril,  and  Bernard  (the  name,  I 
think,  of  the  hermit  of  Abelard's  time),  and  Mr. 
Everett  will  serve  for  many  a  polite  and  digni 
fied  archbishop  who  staid  at  home  and  kept  his 
choice  rhetoric  for  the  ear  of  kings.  .  .  . 


i823]  "PRIESTCRAFT'  337 

No  doubt  beneficent  and  devout  hearts  have 
in  humble  spheres  regenerated  generations  and 
the  world.  But  I  complain  of  the  great  multi 
tude  of  the  laxer  sort.  .  .  .  But  all  the  world 
complains.  "Let  each/'  said  Franklin,  "take 
care  to  mend  one."  I  add,  't  is  worth  while  to 
notice  how  the  black  coats  wind  their  way  into 
the  foremost  ranks  of  the  proudest  company. 

What  can  the  reason  be  why  a  priest  of  what 
ever  god,  under  whatever  form,  should  in  every 
clime  and  age  be  open  to  such  liberal  abuse, 
and  to  ineradicable  suspicion?  Is  the  reason  to 
be  found  in  Ecclesiastical  History?  Question 
less  this  has  been  very  bad.  The  pious  profess 
ors  have  been  outrageous  rogues  in  a  thousand 
temples  from  Memphis  to  Boston.  Or  is  its 
origin  deeper  fixed  in  the  nature  of  the  pro 
fession?  . 


JOURNAL  XIV 

THE   WIDE    WORLD,   NO.    13 

"Bonus  vir  tempore  tantum  a  Deo  differt." 

SENECA. 

"  Nor  fetch  my  precepts  from  the  Cynic's  tub." 

CANTERBURY,  February  17,  1824. 
" La  nature''  says  Pascal,  " confond  les  pyr- 
rhoniensy  et  la  raison  confond  les  dogmatistes." 
And  Sir  J.  Mackintosh  calls  the  sentence  the 
sublimest  of  human  composition.  It  is  fortunate 
and  happy,  but  a  sublimity  not  difficult  to  gain, 
as  it  did  not  occur  to  Pascal  when  he  first  re 
volved  the  subject,  but  is  the  last  generalization 
at  which  he  arrives.  And  it  is  easier  to  build  up 
one  subject  into  a  cone  with  a  broad  base  of  ex 
amples  narrowing  up  into  a  formula  expressing 
a  general  truth,  than  to  detach  subtle  facts  from 
subjects  partially  known.  .  .  . 

PRAISE 

"Please  to  praise  me  "  is  the  ill  disguised  re 
quest  of  almost  all  literary  men.  All  men  are 
cheered  by  applause  and  vexed  by  censure: 


1824]  PRAISE  339 

..."  Nihil  est  quod  credere  de  se 
Non  possit." 

JUVENAL. 

But  literary  men  alone  cannot  do  without  it. 
The  reason  is  obvious.  Other  men  toil  for 
gold  and  get  gold  for  their  toil,  but  scholars 
cannot  get  gold,  and  appetite  in  them  craves 
another  food.  They  are  no  more  insatiable  for 
their  proper  reward  than  are  the  pursuers  of 
Mammon  for  theirs.  But  why  are  the  askers  of 
praise  ridiculous,  and  not  the  askers  of  silver? 
(Minor  negatur.) 

In  education  it  seems  to  be  safer  to  praise 
than  to  censure  abundantly.  For  myself,  I  have 
ever  been  elated  to  an  active  mind  by  flattery 
and  depressed  by  dispraise.  Perhaps  a  Muse 
that  soared  on  a  stronger  wing  would  scorn  to 
be  so  slightly  disheartened.  I  like  the  lines  — 

"  Praise  is  the  salt  that  seasons  right  in  man 
And  whets  the  appetite  of  moral  good." 

YOUNG. 

It  is  noticeable  how  much  a  man  is  judged  of 
by  the  praise  he  gives.  It  is  best  not  to  be  too 
inflammable,  not  to  be  lavish  of  your  praise  on 
light  occasions,  for  it  will  be  remembered  long 


340  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

after  your  fervent  admiration  has  cooled  into 
disgust.  Milton  was  very  frugal  of  his  praise. 
A  man  is  not  more  known  by  the  company  he 
keeps.  Daf  veniam  corvis,  vexat  censura  colum- 
bas  —  is  a  decisive  index  of  perverted  character. 

[INVENTIONS] 

Pliny's  uncle  had  a  slave  read  while  he  eat. 
In  the  progress  of  Watt  and  Perkins's1  philo 
sophy,  the  day  may  come  when  the  scholar  shall 
be  provided  with  a  Reading  Steam-Engine ;  when 
he  shall  say  "Presto"  and  it  shall  discourse  elo 
quent  history,  and  "  Stop,  Sesame"  and  it  shall 
hush  to  let  him  think.  He  shall  put  in  a  pin, 
and  hear  poetry;  and  two  pins  and  hear  a  song. 
That  age  will  discover  Laputa. 

ASIA.    ORIGIN 

February  20. 

"'Tout  commence"  says  Father  Bossuet,  of  the 
first  ages.  All  has  the  air  of  beginning.  They 
form  societies,  devise  arts,  polish  manners,  and 
make  laws.  This  return  to  the  cradle  is  useful. 
Now,  when  all  things  are  tried  and  trite,  when 

I  Jacob  Perkins,  the  ingenious  American  (i  766-1 849)  who 
invented  the  nail-making  machine,  improvements  in  engraving, 
the  steam-gun  (self- feeding),  and  other  machines. 


1 824]  ASIA  341 

Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet  have  strayed  from  their 
paternal  tent  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the  globe  will 
let  them,  and  on  the  mind  of  each  is  writ  in 
indelible  lines  his  character,  now  the  Spirit  of 
Humanity  finds  it  curious  and  good  to  leave  the 
armchair  of  its  old  age  and  go  back  to  the  scenes 
of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  to  the  old  mansion  house  of 
Asia,  the  playground  of  its  childhood,  the  land 
of  distant  but  cherished  remembrance.  That 
spot  must  needs  be  dear  where  the  faculties  first 
opened,  where  youth  first  triumphed  in  the  elas 
ticity  of  strength  and  spirits,  and  where  the  ways 
of  civilization  and  thought  (then  deemed  infinite) 
were  first  explored. 

It  brings  the  mind  palpable  relief,  to  withdraw 
it  from  the  noisy  and  overgrown  world  to  these 
peaceful  primeval  solitudes.  For  this  reason, 
perhaps,  there  is  a  species  of  grandeur  in  Premier 
Epoque  of  Bossuet,  though  it  relates  a  threadbare 
tale.  It  may  be,  this  emotion  will  be  only  occa 
sionally  felt,  for  though  the  grandeur  is  real,  it 
is  ever  present,  as  the  firmament  is  forever  mag 
nificent,  but  is  only  felt  to  be  so  when  our  own 
spirits  are  fresh  (and  buoyant).  Asia,  Africa,  Eu 
rope,  old,  leprous  and  wicked,  have  run  round 
the  goal  of  centuries  till  we '  are  tired  and  they 

I    "We"  means,  beings  better  than  we.     (R.  W.  E.) 


342  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

are  ready  to  drop.  But  now  a  strong  man  has 
entered  the  race  and  is  outstripping  them  all. 
Strong  man  !  youth  and  glory  are  with  thee.  As 
thou  wouldst  prosper,  forget  not  the  hope  of 
mankind.  Trample  not  upon  thy  competitors, 
though  unworthy.  Europe  is  thy  father,  bear  him 
on  thy  Atlantean  shoulders.  Asia,  thy  grand- 
sire,  —  regenerate  him.  Africa,  their  ancient, 
abused  bondsman,  —  give  him  his  freedom.  .  .  . 

AULD    LANG    SYNE 

In  the  beginning,  which  I  spake  of  a  few 
lines  above,  there  was  some  good.  Would  it  not 
have  been  well  to  have  lived  in  Nineveh,  or  to 
have  been  the  mighty  hunter,  or  to  have  floated  on 
the  Deluge,  or  have  been  dead  before?  Hope, 
at  least,  would  have  been  a  contemporary.  Now 
she  has  long  been  dead  or  doating  —  as  good 
as  dead.  Moreover,  men's  thoughts  were  their 
own  then.  Noah  was  not  dinned  to  death  with 
Aristotle  and  Bacon  and  Greece  and  Rome. 
The  patriarchs  were  never  puzzled  with  libraries 
of  names  and  dates,  with  First  ages  and  Dark 
ages;  and  Revivals,  and  upper  empires  and  lower 
empires;  with  the  balance  of  power  and  the  bal 
ance  of  trade;  with  fighting  chronologies  and 
dagger-drawing  creeds.  Life  is  wasted  in  the 


i824]         THE    LATTER   DAYS          343 

necessary  preparation  of  rinding  which  is  the 
true  way,  and  we  die  just  as  we  enter  it.  An 
Antediluvian  had  the  advantage — an  advan 
tage  that  has  been  growing  scarce  as  the  world 
has  grown  older  —  of  forming  his  own  opinion 
and  indulging  his  own  hope,  without  danger  of 
contradiction  from  Time  that  never  had  elapsed, 
or  observation  that  never  had  been  made. 

NOWADAYS.      EDUCATION 

Unknown  troubles  perplex  the  lot  of  the 
scholar  whose  inexpressible  unhappiness  it  is  to 
be  born  at  this  day.  He  is  born  in  a  time  of  war. 
A  thousand  religions  are  in  arms.  Systems  of 
education  are  contesting.  Literature,  Politics, 
Morals,  and  Physics  are  each  engaged  in  loud 
civil  broil.  A  chaos  of  doubts  besets  him  from 
his  outset.  Shall  he  read,  or  shall  he  think  ? 
Ask  the  wise.  The  wise  have  not  determined. 
Shall  he  nourish  his  faculties  in  solitude  or  in 
active  life?  No  man  can  answer.  He  turns  to 
books  —  the  vast  amount  of  recorded  wisdom, 
but  it  is  useless  from  its  amount.  He  cannot  read 
all;1  no,  not  in  Methuselah's  multiplied  days; 
—  but  how  to  choose — hoc  opus  est.  Must  he 

i  One  had  need  read  as  Pliny  elder,  to  accomplish  any 
thing.  (R.  W.  E.) 


344  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

read  History  and  neglect  Morals;  or  learn  what 
ought  to  be,  in  ignorance  of  what  has  been?  Or 
must  he  slight  both  in  the  pursuit  of  (physical) 
science ;  or  all,  for  practical  knowledge  and  a  pro 
fession  ?  Must  he,  in  a  last  alternative,  abandon 
all  the  rest,  to  be  profoundly  skilled  in  a  single 
branch  of  art,  or,  understanding  none,  smatter 
superficially  in  all? 

A  question  of  equal  moment  to  each  new  citi 
zen  of  the  world  is  this :  shall  I  subdue  my  mind 
by  discipline,  or  obey  its  native  inclinations? 
govern  my  imagination  with  rules,  or  cherish  its 
originality.  Shall  I  cultivate  Reason  or  Fancy, 
educate  one  power  with  concentrated  diligence 
or  reduce  all  to  the  same  level?  .  .  . 

These  and  similar  questions  are  a  real  and 
recurring  calamity.  I  do  not  know  that  it  were 
extravagant  to  say  that  half  of  the  time  of  most 
scholars  is  dissipated  in  fruitless  and  vexatious 
attempts  to  solve  one  or  another  of  [such  ques 
tions]  in  succession.  It  is  an  evil  oftener  felt  than 
stated.  It  is  an  evil  that  demands  a  remedy.  It 
requires  that  what  master  minds  have  done  for 
some  of  the  Sciences,  should  be  done  for  Edu 
cation.  Teach  us  no  more  arts,  but  how  those 
which  are  already  should  be  learned. 


1 824]  MORAL   BEAUTY  345 

MORAL    BEAUTY 

February  20. 

Material  beauty  perishes  or  palls.  Intellectual 
beauty  limits  admiration  to  seasons  and  ages; 
hath  its  ebbs  and  flows  of  delight.  .  .  .  But 
moral  beauty  is  lovely,  imperishable,  perfect.  It  is 
dear  to  the  child  and  to  the  patriarch,  to  Heaven, 
Angel,  Man.  .  .  .  None  that  can  understand 
Milton's  Comus  can  read  it  without  warming 
to  the  holy  emotions  it  panegyrizes. 

I  would  freely  give  all  I  ever  hoped  to  be, 
even  when  my  air-blown  hopes  were  brilliant 
and  glorious, —  not  as  now  —  to  have  given 
down  that  sweet  strain  to  posterity  to  do  good 
in  a  golden  way.  .  .  .  The  service  that  such 
books  as  this,  and  the  Prelaty  and  Bunyan,  &c., 
render,  is  not  appreciable,  but  it  is  immense. 
These  books  go  up  and  down  the  world  on  the 
errand  of  charity.  .  .  .  They  pluck  away  the 
thorn  from  Virtue's  martyr  crown  and  plant 
the  rose  and  amaranth  instead.  Of  this  I  am 
glad.  I  am  glad  to  find  at  least  one  unfading, 
essential,  beneficent  principle  in  human  nature 
—  the  approval  of  right ;  and  that  it  is  so  strong 
and  ineffaceable.  .  .  .  Popular  preachers  .  .  . 
have  won  the  understanding  by  getting  on  the 


346  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

right  side  of  the  heart.  I  am  ignorant  if,  in 
saying  this,  I  analyze  Bancroft's  eloquence. 
His  sermon  on  Temperance  was  of  powerful 
effect,  but  it  seemed  to  reach  the  practice 
through  an  appeal  to  this  moral  poetry.  Thus, 
one  fine  sentiment  in  it,  that  was  calculated  to 
produce  much  fasting,  was  the  representation 
of  the  body  as  the  corruptible  and  perishable 
channel,  through  which  flowed  for  a  season 
the  streams  of  immortal  thought.1 

SENTIMENT 

CANTERBURY,  February  22,  1824. 
The  war  between  sentiment  and  reason  is  the 
perpetual  wonder  that  lasts  the  "  nine  days"  of 
human  life.  When  we  calmly  think  and  precisely 
reason,  our  life  (ever  enigmatical  enow)  has  most 
of  sense  and  design ;  there  is  an  arrangement 
perceived  in  education,  and  a  growth  in  mind. 
But  when  viz  feel  strongly,  when  we  love  woman 
or  man,  when  we  hope,  or  fear,  or  hate,  or 

i    Perhaps  this  was  the  origin  of  the  early  poem,  beginning, 

O  what  are  heroes,  prophets,  men, 

But  pipes,  through  which  the  breath  of  God  doth  blow 

A  momentary  music  ? 

Later,  Mr.  Emerson  chose  the  classical  form,  and  substituted 
"Pan,"  for  "God."  See  poem  "Pan,"  Poems,  Appen 
dix. 


i824]  SENTIMENT  347 

aspire  with  vehemence,  the  strength  of  a  senti 
ment  is  so  engrossing  and  exclusive  that  it 
throws  all  memory  and  habit  for  the  moment 
into  a  remote  background;  the  delusion  waxes 
so  strong  that  it  alone  remains  real,  and  all 
else  shows  as  strong  delusion.  An  educated 
man,  when  he  is  star-gazing  or  vividly  consid 
ering  for  a  moment  his  relations  as  an  eternal 
being  to  the  world,  frequently  undervalues,  as 
nugatory,  the  time  and  diligence  bestowed  by 
him  on  science  and  art ;  forgetting  that  to  this 
very  cultivation  he  owes  that  elevation  of  thought 
which  disgusts  him  with  this  world's  unsatisfac- 
toriness.  .  .  . 

A  melancholy  dream  it  is,  this  succession  of 
rolling  weeks,  each,  like  the  last,  in  peevish  dis 
satisfaction  and  in  diminished  hope. 

u  By  pain  of  heart  now  checked  and  now  impelled, 
The  intellectual  power  through  words  and  things 
Went  sounding  on  a  dim  and  perilous  way." 

[CANTERBURY,  February,  1824.] 

Goodbye,  proud  world,  I  'm  going  home  : 
Thou  'rt  not  my  friend  and  I  'm  not  thine. 
Long  I  Ve  been  tossed  like  the  salt  sea  foam, 
All  day  mid  weary  crowds  I  roam, — 
And  O  my  home,  O  holy  home  ! 


348  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Goodbye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face, 
To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace, 
To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye, 
To  supple  Office,  low  and  high, 
To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet, 
To  noisy  Toil,  to  Court  and  Street, 
To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come; 
Goodbye,  proud  World  !   I  'm  going  home. 

I  'm  going  to  my  own  hearthstone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone ; 
Sweet  summer  birds  are  warbling  there.1 

Metaphysicians  are  mortified  to  find  how  en 
tirely  the  whole  materials  of  understanding  are 
derived  from  sense.  No  man  is  understood,  who 
speculates  on  mind  or  character,  until  he  borrows 
the  emphatic  imagery  of  sense.  A  mourner  will 
try  in  vain  to  explain  the  extent  of  his  bereave 
ment  better  than  to  say,  a  chasm  is  opened  in 
society.  I  fear  the  progress  of  metaphysical 
philosophy  may  be  found  to  consist  in  nothing 

i  The  rest  of  these  verses,  the  "  Goodbye,"  occurs,  two 
months  later  in  date,  in  this  journal.  Mr.  Emerson  sent  an 
improved  version,  in  I  839,  to  gratify  his  friend  James  Freeman 
Clarke,  who  published  them  in  The  Western  Messenger. 
What  Mr.  Emerson  said  of  them  may  be  found  in  the  letter 
which  he  sent  with  them,  in  Dr.  Holmes's  Memoir  of  him. 
(Ralph  Waldo  Emerson ,  American  Men  of  Letters  Series,  p. 
129.) 


i824]    THE  IMAGERY  OF  SENSE   349 

else  than  the  progressive  introduction  of  oppo 
site  metaphors.  Thus  the  Platonists  congratu 
lated  themselves  for  ages  upon  their  knowing 
that  Mind  was  a  dark  chamber  whereon  ideas 
like  shadows  were  painted.  Men  derided  this 
as  infantile  when  they  afterwards  learned  that 
the  Mind  was  a  sheet  of  white  paper  whereon 
any  and  all  characters  might  be  written.  Almost 
everything  in  language  that  is  bound  up  in  your 
memory  is  of  this  significant  sort.  Sleep,  the 
cessation  of  toil,  the  loss  of  volition,  etc.,  what 
is  that?  but 

"Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  Care" 

is  felt.  Life  is  nothing,  but  the  lamp  of  life  that 
blazes,  flutters,  and  goes  out,  the  bill  of  life  which 
is  climbed  and  tottered  down,  the  race  of  life 
which  is  run  with  a  thousand  competitors  and 
for  a  prize  proposed,  —  these  are  distinctly  un 
derstood.  "We  love  tellers  of  good  tidings"  is 
faint,  but  "  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains 
are  their  feet"  is  excellent.  "The  world  is  the 
scaffold  of  Divine  Justice,"  said  Saurin. 

[COUNTRY] 

How  do  you  do,  Sir?  Very  well,  Sir.   You 
have  a  keen  air  among  your  rocks  and  hills.  Yes, 


350  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

Sir.  I  never  saw  a  country  which  more  delighted 
me.  A  man  might  travel  many  hundred  miles 
and  not  find  so  fine  woodlands  as  abound  in  this 
neighbourhood.  But  the  good  people  who  live* 
in  them  do  not  esteem  them.  It  is  people  born 
in  town  who  are  intoxicated  with  being  in  the 
country.  It  certainly  is  a  good  deal  like  being 
drunk,  the  feelings  of  a  cit  in  the  hills.  In  Cam 
bridge  there  is  some  wild  land  called  Sweet 
Auburn,  upwards  of  a  mile  from  the  Colleges, 
and  yet  the  students  will  go  in  bands  over  a  flat 
sandy  road,  and  in  summer  evenings  the  woods 
are  full  of  them.  They  are  so  happy  they  do  not 
know  what  to  do.  They  will  scatter  far  and  wide, 
too,  among  some  insignificant  whortleberry 
bushes,  pricked  with  thorns  and  stung  by  mus- 
quetoes  for  hours,  for  the  sake  of  picking  a  pint 
of  berries ;  occasionally  chewing  a  bug  of  inde 
scribable  bad  relish.  You  count  it  nothing  more 
to  go  among  green  bushes  than  on  the  roads,  but 
those  who  have  been  educated  in  dusty  streets 
enjoy  as  much  sauntering  here  as  you  would  in 
the  orange  groves  and  cinnamon  gardens  of  the 
East  Indies. 

They  say  there  is  a  tune  which  is  forbidden  to 
be  played  in  the  European  armies  because  it 
makes  the  Swiss  desert,  since  it  reminds  them 


i824]  COUNTRY   JOYS  351 

so  forcibly  of  their  hills  and  home.  I  have  heard 
many  Swiss  tunes  played  in  college.  Balancing 
between  getting  and  not  getting  a  hard  lesson,  a 
breath  of  fragrant  air  from  the  fields  coming  in 
at  the  window  would  serve  as  a  Swiss  tune  and 
make  me  desert  to  the  glens  from  which  it  came. 
Nor  is  that  vagabond  inclination  wholly  gone 
yet.  And  many  a  sultry  afternoon,  last  summer, 
I  left  my  Latin  and  my  English  to  go  with  my 
gun  and  see  the  rabbits  and  squirrels  and  robins 
in  the  woods.  Goodbye,  Sir.  Stop  a  moment.  I 
have  heard  a  clergyman  of  Maine  say  that  in  his 
Parish  are  the  Penobscot  Indians,  and  that  when 
any  one  of  them  in  summer  has  been  absent  for 
some  weeks  a-hunting,  he  comes  back  among 
them  a  different  person  and  altogether  unlike 
any  of  the  rest,  with  an  eagle's  eye,  a  wild  look, 
and  commanding  carriage  and  gesture;  but  after 
a  few  weeks  it  wears  off  again  into  the  indolent 
dronelike  apathy  which  all  exhibit.  Good  day, 
Sir. 

THE    PURITANS  ;    MELIORATION    OF    THE    TYPE 

Such  a  change  as  Hume  remarks  to  have  taken 
place  in  men's  minds,  about  the  reign  of  James  I, 
may  be  found  also,  perhaps,  in  a  complete  obser 
vation  of  the  early  and  later  books  of  this  coun- 


JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

try.  The  race  who  fought  the  Revolution  out 
were  obviously  not  of  the  same  temper  and  man 
ners  as  the  first  comers  to  the  wilderness.  They 
had  dropped  so  much  of  the  puritanism  of  their 
sires,  that  they  would  hardly  have  been  acknow 
ledged  by  them  as  sound  members  of  their  rig 
orous  society.  This  nation  is  now  honourably 
distinguished  above  all  others  for  greater  moral 
purity.  But  the  constant  intercourse  with  Eu 
rope  constantly  lessens  the  distinction;  and  lib 
erality  of  religious  and  political  sentiment  gains 
ground  rapidly.  The  great  men  of  our  first 
age  were  Bradford,  Standish,  Cotton,  Winthrop, 
Phipps,  and  Underwood;  of  our  second,  the 
Mathers,  John  Eliot,  Witherspoon,  and  Presi 
dent  Edwards ;  and  of  the  third,  Otis,  Adams, 
Washington,  Franklin.  Smith  of  Virginia  would 
not  have  been  admitted  to  the  Plymouth  doors, 
unless,  perchance,  on  account  of  the  slaughter 
of  the  three  Saracens.  Liberality  of  religion  and 
of  politics  do  not  always  go  hand  in  hand.  For 
the  same  Puritans  who  framed  the  English  Con 
stitution  persecuted  the  Quakers  and  hanged  the 
witches.  The  adventurous  spirit  which  distin 
guished  the  settlers  was  begotten  by  the  fanati 
cism  of  the  Reformation,  a  spirit  which  confides 
in  its  own  strength  for  the  accomplishment  of  its 


1 8 24]  THE    BLACKBIRD  353 

ends,  and  disdains  to  calculate  the  chance  of  fail 
ure.  It  is  strange,  gratifying,  to  see  how  faithfully 
the  feelings  of  one  generation  maybe  propagated 
to  another  amid  the  adverse  action  of  all  outward 
circumstances,  poverty,  riches,  revolution.  From 
the  close  of  Elizabeth's  reign,  the  intolerance 
and  bigotry  of  the  Puritans  continued  and  mul 
tiplied  until  the  outbreak  in  England  in  1640  (?), 
and,  in  the  branch  of  the  stock  in  America,  in 
the  ecclesiastical  tyranny.  After  that  efferves 
cence,  men  corrected  the  faults  of  inexperience, 
and  the  following  generation  here  were  more 
marked  by  good  sense.  Gibbon  said  'twas  as  rare 
as  genius. 

THE    BLACKBIRD 

The  blackbird's  song  is  in  my  ear, 

A  summer  sound  I  leap  to  hear; 

Day  breaks  through  yonder  dusky  cloud 

O'er  well-known  cliffs,  those  giants  proud ; 

And  I  am  glad  the  day  is  come 

To  greet  me  in  my  ancient  home. 

Rejoice  with  me,  melodious  bird, 
Whose  merry  note  my  childhood  heard  ; 
For  I  've  come  back  again  to  see 
The  wildwoods  of  mine  infancy; 
For,  O  my  home,  I  thought  no  more  — 


354  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

I  love  the  voice  of  the  bird, 

And  the  tree  where  he  builds  his  nest, 

And  the  grove  where  man's  mirth  and  man's  grief  are 

unheard. 

Ye  are  my  home,  ye  ancient  rocks, 
Who  lift  'mid  cedar  shades,  your  rugged  crest ; 
The  flowers,  like  Beauty's  golden  locks, 
Adorn  your  brow  and  droop  upon  your  breast. 

Mountain  and  cliff  and  lake,  I  am  your  child  ; 
Ye  were  the  cradle  of  mine  infancy, 
The  playground  of  my  youth.1 

He  who  frequents  these  scenes,  where  Nature 
discloses  her  magnificence  to  silence  and  solitude, 
will  have  his  mind  occupied  often  by  trains  of 
thought  of  a  peculiarly  solemn  tone,  which  never 
interrupted  the  profligacy  of  libertines,  the 
money-getting  of  the  miser,  or  the  glory-getting 
of  the  ambitious.  In  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
where  the  noon  comes  like  twilight,  on  the  cliff, 
in  the  cavern,  and  by  the  lonely  lake,  where  the 

i  The  imagery  of  rock  and  cedar  shows  that  this  outburst 
of  joy  in  Spring  was  inspired  by  the  rougher  parts  of  Rox- 
bury,  where  Emerson  for  the  time  dwelt,  and  whither,  as  a 
boy,  he  had  made  excursions.  As  for  mountains,  Blue  Hill 
was  the  nearest  approach  to  one,  but  the  young  poet  felt  free 
to  include  all  wild  Nature  in  his  description.  Wordsworth's 
influence  seems  to  appear  in  the  last  lines. 


1 824]       TEMPLE    OF    NATURE        355 

sounds  of  man's  mirth  and  of  man's  sorrow  were 
never  heard,  where  the  squirrel  inhabits  and  the 
voice  of  the  bird  echoes,  — is  a  shrine  which  few 
visit  in  vain,  an  oracle  which  returns  no  ambig 
uous  response.  The  pilgrim  who  retires  hither 
wonders  how  his  heart  could  ever  cleave  so 
mightily  to  the  world  whose  deafening  tumult  he 
has  left  behind.  What  are  temples  and  towered 
cities  to  him  ?  He  has  come  to  a  sweeter  and 
more  desirable  creation.  When  his  eye  reaches 
upward  by  the  sides  of  the  piled  rocks  to  the 
grassy  summit,  he  feels  that  the  magnificence  of 
man  is  quelled  and  subdued  here.  The  very  leaf 
under  his  foot,  the  little  flowers  that  embroider 
his  path,  outdo  the  art,  and  outshine  the  glory 
of  man.  .  .  .  Things  here  assume  their  natu 
ral  proportions,  before  distorted  by  prejudice. 
What,  in  this  solitude,  are  the  libraries  of  learn 
ing?  The  scholar  and  the  peasant  are  alike  in  the 
view  which  Nature  takes  of  them.  The  barriers 
of  artificial  distinction  are  broken  down.  So 
ciety's  iron  sceptre  of  ceremony  is  dishonoured 
here,  —  here  in  the  footsteps  of  the  invisible, 
in  the  bright  ruins  of  the  original  creation,  over 
which  the  Morning  stars  sang  together,  and 
where,  even  now,  they  shed  their  sweetest  light. 
Whatsoever  beings  watch  over  these  inner  cham- 


356  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

bers  of  Nature,  they  have  not  abandoned  their 
charge.  Nature  never  tires  of  her  house,  and 
each  year  its  glorious  tapestry  is  newly  hung.  .  .  . 

[YOUNG  AMERICA'S  JUDGMENTS] 

Youth  is  not  the  fault  nations  soonest  mend, 
and  it  may  be  very  long  before  the  world's 
experience  can  be  any  wise  pronounced  mature. 
What  are  we  who  sit  in  judgment  upon  our 
fathers,  as  if  upon  a  remote  and  foreign  race  ? 
Their  stripling  progeny  ;  inhabiting  their  hearths, 
covered  with  the  dust  of  their  prejudices,  dressed 
in  their  robes  and  using  their  wealth.  When 
hundreds  of  ages  shall  have  rolled  away  and  the 
scholar's  eye  shall  combine  the  entire  history  of 
a  thousand  nations  in  one  view,  it  will  be  less 
immodest  and  more  easy  to  pronounce  on  the 
merits  of  their  respective  literatures.  It  will  cor 
rect  our  vain  pretensions  to  read  often  Frank 
lin's  scrap  called  "Ephemeris." 

FROM    A    LETTER    TO    MISS    EMERSON 

March  21,  1824. 

No  fashion  is  so  frantic  as  to  depreciate 
thought.  No  change  of  times  or  minds  has  ever 
occurred  to  throw  too  much  intellect  on  the 
market.  The  world  is  very  poor  amidst  the 


1 824]  LETTERS  357 

rich  library  of  all  knowledge  its  vaunting  chil 
dren  have  bequeathed  it.  Now,  in  its  ripe  and 
learned  old  age,  come  I,  its  docile  child,  to  be 
pleased  and  instructed  by  its  abundant  wisdom ; 
but  when  I  open  its  accepted  gospels  of  thought 
and  learning,  its  sages  and  bards,  I  find  they 
were  all  fain  to  spin  a  spider  thread  of  intellect, 
to  borrow  much  of  each  other,  to  arrive  at  few 
results,  and  to  hide  or  supply  meagreness  by 
profuse  ornament.  I  am  therefore  curious  to 
know  what  living  wit  (not  perverted  by  the  vul 
gar  rage  of  writing  a  book)  has  suggested  or 
concluded  upon  the  dark  sayings  and  sphinx 
riddles  of  philosophy  and  life;  I  do  beseech  your 
charity  not  to  withhold  your  pen.  I  have  one 
more  calculation  with  which  I  please  myself, 
that  if  my  gross  body  outlive  you,  you  will 
bequeath  me  the  legacy  of  all  your  recorded 
thought.  I  know  not  to  what  purpose  you 
should  think  and  write  so  many  years  (pardon 
the  coarseness  of  the  phrase)  if  you  design  to 
burn  or  bury  your  books,  like  Prospero.  'T  is 
counted  good  in  the  Greek  and  the  Roman  to 
have  planted  so  many  fair  flowers  of  fancy  on 
the  open  road  of  poetry,  for  the  use  and  plea 
sure  of  all  subsequent  travellers.  He  who  makes 
one  addition  to  the  stock  of  thought  in  circula- 


358  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

tion  among  men  is  a  benefactor  to  an  unknown 
amount,  and  has  not  lost  his  day.  If  you  are 
too  proud  to  expose  the  mind's  wealth  to  the 
vulgar  voice  of  fame  (as  De  Stael  has  done), 
you  do  philanthropy  a  wrong,  and  friendship  a 
wrong,  to  withhold  it  from  men  and  from  a 
friend.  And  what  will  you  want  of  it  where  you 
go  ?  Says  Faith :  If  you  are  to  lie  for  a  season  in 
cold  obstruction,  it  will  rot  by  your  side.  If  you 
wake  in  glorified  existence,  you  will  cease  to 
value  these  rudiments  of  the  soul.  But  cast  your 
bread  on  the  waters  and  you  will  find  it  after 
many  days ;  you  may  find  it  in  other  worlds 
bearing  fruit,  and  multiplying,  as  is  the  nature 
of  thought.  Why  is  the  fruit  of  knowledge  sor 
row?  I  have,  it  may  be,  a  pleasant  poetical  cast 
of  thought  —  because  I  am  ignorant.  I  had  a 
pleasanter  and  more  romantic  existence  (for  such 
is  childhood)  whilst  I  thought  the  rainbow  a 
symbol  and  an  arch  in  heaven,  and  not  necessary 
results  of  light  and  eyes,  whilst  I  believed  that 
the  country  had  some  essential  sacredness,  some 
nobler  difference  from  the  town  than  that  one 
was  builded,  t'  other  not.  A  flower  and  a  butter 
fly  lose  every  charm  when  poring  science  dis 
closes  lobes  and  stomachs,  acids  and  alkalies  in 
their  delicate  beauty.  I  dislike  to  augment  my 


1 8 24]          TO    MISS   EMERSON  359 

slender  store  of  chemistry  and  astronomy,  and 
I  think  I  could  have  helped  the  monks  to  be 
labour  Galileo  for  saying  the  everlasting  earth 
moved.  Now  these  few  lines  are  an  epitome  of 
the  history  of  knowledge.  Every  step  Science 
has  made  —  was  it  not  the  successive  destruc 
tion  of  agreeable  delusions  which  jointly  made 
up  no  mean  portion  of  human  happiness  ?  In 
metaphysics,  "  the  gymnastics  of  the  soul," 
what  has  reason  done  since  Plato's  day  but  rend 
and  tear  his  gorgeous  fabric.  And  how  are  we 
the  wiser  ?  Instead  of  the  unmeasurable  theatre 
which  we  deemed  was  here  opened  to  the  range 
of  the  understanding,  we  are  now  reduced  to  a 
little  circle  of  definitions  and  logic  round  which 
we  may  humbly  run.  And  how  has  Faith  fared? 
Why,  the  Reformer's  axe  has  hewed  down  idol 
after  idol,  and  corruption  and  imperfection,  un 
til  Faith  is  bare  and  very  cold.  And  they  have 
not  done  stripping  yet,  but  must  reach  the 
bone.  The  old  fable  said  Truth  was  by  gods  or 
men  made  naked.  I  wish  the  gods  would  help 
her  to  a  garment  or  make  her  fairer.  From 
Eden  to  America  the  apples  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge  are  but  bitter  fruit  in  the  end. 


360  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

MYSELF 

Sunday,  April  18,  1824. 

"  Nil  fuit  unquam  sic  dispar  sibi." 

HORACE. 

I  am  beginning  my  professional  studies.  In  a 
month  I  shall  be  legally  a  man.  And  I  deliber 
ately  dedicate  my  time,  my  talents,  and  my  hopes 
to  the  Church.  Man  is  an  animal  that  looks  be 
fore  and  after ;  and  I  should  be  loth  to  reflect  at 
a  remote  period  that  I  took  so  solemn  a  step  in 
my  existence  without  some  careful  examination 
of  my  past  and  present  life.  Since  I  cannot  alter, 
I  would  not  repent  the  resolution  I  have  made, 
and  this  page  must  be  witness  to  the  latest  year 
of  my  life  whether  I  have  good  grounds  to  war 
rant  my  determination. 

I  cannot  dissemble  that  my  abilities  are  below 
my  ambition.  And  I  find  that  I  judged  by  a 
false  criterion  when  I  measured  my  powers  by 
my  ability  to  understand  and  to  criticize  the  in 
tellectual  character  of  another.  For  men  graduate 
their  respect,  not  by  the  secret  wealth,  but  by  the 
outward  use ;  not  by  the  power  to  understand, 
but  by  the  power  to  act.  I  have,  or  had,  a  strong 
imagination,  and  consequently  a  keen  relish  for 
the  beauties  of  poetry.  The  exercise  which  the 


i824]        SELF-EXAMINATION          361 

practice  of  composition  gives  to  this  faculty  is 
the  cause  of  my  immoderate  fondness  for  writ 
ing,  which  has  swelled  these  pages  to  a  volumi 
nous  extent.  My  reasoning  faculty  is  proportion- 
ably  weak,  nor  can  I  ever  hope  to  write  a  Butler's 
Analogy  or  an  Essay  of  Hume.  Nor  is  it  stfange 
that  with  this  confession  I  should  choose  the 
ology,  which  is  from  everlasting  to  everlasting 
"  debateable  ground.'*  For,  the  highest  species  of 
reasoning  upon  divine  subjects  is  rather  the  fruit 
of  a  sort  of  moral  imagination,  than  of  the  "  Rea 
soning  Machines,"  such  as  Locke  and  Clarke 
and  David  Hume.  Dr.  Channing's  Dudleian 
Lecture  is  the  model  of  what  I  mean,  and  the 
faculty  which  produced  this  is  akin  to  the  higher 
flights  of  the  fancy.  I  may  add  that  the  preach 
ing  most  in  vogue  at  the  present  day  depends 
chiefly  on  imagination  for  its  success,  and  asks 
those  accomplishments  which  I  believe  are  most 
within  my  grasp.  I  have  set  down  little  which 
can  gratify  my  vanity,  and  I  must  further  say 
that  every  comparison  of  myself  with  my  mates 
that  six  or  seven,  perhaps  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
years  have  made,  has  convinced  me  that  there 
exists  a  signal  defect  of  character  which  neutral 
izes  in  great  part  the  just  influence  my  talents 
ought  to  have.  Whether  that  defect  be  in  the 


362  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

address,  in  the  fault  of  good  forms, —  which, 
Queen  Isabella  said,  were  like  perpetual  letters- 
commendatory —  or  deeper  seated  in  an  absence 
of  common  sympathies,  or  even  in  a  levity  of  the 
understanding,  I  cannot  tell.  But  its  bitter  fruits 
are  a  sore  uneasiness  in  the  company  of  most 
men  and  women,  a  frigid  fear  of  offending  and 
jealousy  of  disrespect,  an  inability  to  lead  and 
an  unwillingness  to  follow  the  current  conversa 
tion,  which  contrive  to  make  me  second  with  all 
those  among  whom  chiefly  I  wish  to  be  first. 

Hence  my  bearing  in  the  world  is  the  direct 
opposite  of  that  good-humoured  independence 
and  self-esteem  which  should  mark  the  gentle 
man.  Be  it  here  remembered  that  there  is  a  de 
cent  pride  which  is  conspicuous  in  the  perfect 
model  of  a  Christian  man.  I  am  unfortunate 
also,  as  was  Rienzi,  in  a  propensity  to  laugh,  or 
rather,  snicker.  I  am  ill  at  ease,  therefore,  among 
men.  I  criticize  with  hardness ;  I  lavishly  ap 
plaud  ;  I  weakly  argue ;  and  I  wonder  with  a 
"foolish  face  of  praise. " 

Now  the  profession  of  law  demands  a  good 
deal  of  personal  address,  an  impregnable  confi 
dence  in  one's  own  powers,  upon  all  occasions 
expected  and  unexpected,  and  a  logical  mode  of 
thinking  and  speaking —  which  I  do  not  possess, 


i824]        SELF-EXAMINATION          363 

and  may  not  reasonably  hope  to  obtain.  Medi 
cine  also  makes  large  demands  on  the  practitioner 
for  a  seducing  mannerism.  And  I  have  no  taste 
for  the  pestle  and  mortar,  for  Bell  on  the  bones, 
or  Hunter,  or  Celsus. 

But  in  Divinity  I  hope  to  thrive.  I  inherit  from 
my  sire  a  formality  of  manner  and  speech,  but 
I  derive  from  him,  or  his  patriotic  parent,  a  pas 
sionate  love  for  the  strains  of  eloquence.  I  burn 
after  the  " aliquid  immensum  infinitumque"  which 
Cicero  desired.  What  we  ardently  love  we  learn 
to  imitate.  My  understanding  venerates  and  my 
heart  loves  that  cause  which  is  dear  to  God  and 
man  —  the  laws  of  morals,  the  Revelations  which 
sanction,  and  the  blood  of  martyrs  and  trium 
phant  suffering  of  the  saints  which  seal  them.  In 
my  better  hours,  I  am  the  believer  (if  not  the 
dupe)  of  brilliant  promises,  and  can  respect 
myself  as  the  possessor  of  those  powers  which 
command  the  reason  and  passions  "of  the  mul 
titude.  The  office  of  a  clergyman  is  twofold : 
public  preaching  and  private  influence.  Entire 
success  in  the  first  is  the  lot  of  few,  but  this  I 
am  encouraged  to  expect.  If,  however,  the  indi 
vidual  himself  lack  that  moral  worth  which  is  to 
secure  the  last,  his  studies  upon  the  first  are  idly 
spent.  The  most  prodigious  genius,  a  seraph's 


364  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

eloquence,  will  shamefully  defeat  its  own  end,  if 
it  has  not  first  won  the  heart  of  the  defender  to 
the  cause  he  defends.  But  the  coolest  reason 
cannot  censure  my  choice  when  I  oblige  myself 
professionally  to  a  life  which  all  wise  men  freely 
and  advisedly  adopt.  I  put  no  great  restraint  on 
myself,  and  can  therefore  claim  little  merit  in  a 
manner  of  life  which  chimes  with  inclination 
and  habit.  But  I  would  learn  to  love  virtue  for 
her  own  sake.  I  would  have  my  pen  so  guided 
as  was  Milton's  when  a  deep  and  enthusiastic 
love  of  goodness  and  of  God  dictated  the  Comus 
to  the  bard,  or  that  prose  rhapsody  in  the  Third 
Book  of  Prelaty.  I  would  sacrifice  inclination 
to  the  interest  of  mind  and  soul.  I  would  re 
member  that 

"Spare  Fast  oft  with  Gods  doth  diet," 

that  Justinian  devoted  but  one  out  of  twenty- 
four  hours  to  sleep,  and  this  week  (for  instance) 
I  will  remember  to  curtail  my  dinner  and  sup 
per  sensibly  and  rise  from  table  each  day  with 
an  appetite,  till  Tuesday  evening  next,  and  so 
see  if  it  be  a  fact  that  I  can  understand  more 
clearly. 

I  have  mentioned  a  defect  of  character ;  per 
haps  it  is  not  one,  but  many.    Every  wise  man 


i8z4]         NATURAL   DEFECTS          365 

aims  at  an  entire  conquest  of  himself.  We  ap 
plaud,  as  possessed  of  extraordinary  good  sense, 
one  who  never  makes  the  slightest  mistake  in 
speech  or  action ;  one  in  whom  not  only  every  im 
portant  step  of  life,  but  every  passage  of  conver 
sation,  every  duty  of  the  day,  even  every  move 
ment  of  every  muscle  —  hands,  feet,  and  tongue, 
are  measured  and  dictated  by  deliberate  reason. 
I  am  not  assuredly  that  excellent  creature.  A 
score  of  words  and  deeds  issue  from  me  daily, 
of  which  I  am  not  the  master.  They  are  begot 
ten  of  weakness  and  born  of  shame.  I  cannot 
assume  the  elevation  I  ought,  —  but  lose  the  in 
fluence  I  should  exert  among  those  of  meaner 
or  younger  understanding,  for  want  of  sufficient 
bottom  in  my  nature,  for  want  of  that  confidence 
of  manner  which  springs  from  an  erect  mind 
which  is  without  fear  and  without  reproach.  In 
my  frequent  humiliation,  even  before  women 
and  children,  I  am  compelled  to  remember  the 
poor  boy  who  cried,  cc  I  told  you,  Father,  they 
would  find  me  out."  Even  those  feelings  which 
are  counted  noble  and  generous  take  in  me  the 
taint  of  frailty.  For  my  strong  propensity  to 
friendship,  instead  of  working  out  its  manly 
ends,  degenerates  to  a  fondness  for  particular 
casts  of  feature,  perchance  not  unlike  the  doting 


366  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

of  old  King  James.  Stateliness  and  silence  hang 
very  like  Mokannah's  suspicious  silver  veil,  only 
concealing  what  is  best  not  shewn.  What  is 
called  a  warm  heart,  I  have  not. 

The  stern  accuser  Conscience  cries  that  the 
catalogue  of  confessions  is  not  yet  full.  I  am  a 
lover  of  indolence,  and  of  the  belly.  And  the 
good  have  a  right  to  ask  the  neophyte  who  wears 
this  garment  of  scarlet  sin,  why  he  comes  where 
all  are  apparelled  in  white?  Dares  he  hope  that 
some  patches  of  pure  and  generous  feeling,  some 
bright  fragments  of  lofty  thought,  it  may  be  of 
divine  poesy,  shall  charm  the  eye  away  from  all 
the  particoloured  shades  of  his  character  ?  And 
when  he  is  clothed  in  the  vestments  of  the  priest, 
and  has  inscribed  on  his  forehead  "  Holiness  to 
the  Lord,"  and  wears  on  his  breast  the  breast 
plate  of  the  tribes,  then  can  the  Ethiopian  change 
his  skin,  and  the  unclean  be  pure?  Or  how  shall 
I  strenuously  enforce  on  men  the  duties  and 
habits  to  which  I  am  a  stranger?  Physician, 
heal  thyself;  I  need  not  go  far  for  an  answer  to 
so  natural  a  question.  I  am  young  in  my  ever 
lasting  existence.  I  already  discern  the  deep  dye 
of  elementary  errors,  which  threaten  to  colour  its 
infinity  of  duration.  And  I  judge  that  if  I  devote 
my  nights  and  days  in  form ,  to  the  service  of 


1 8z4]  DUPE   OF    HOPE  367 

God  and  the  War  against  Sin,  I  shall  soon  be 
prepared  to  do  the  same  in  substance. 

I  cannot  accurately  estimate  my  chances  of 
success,  in  my  profession,  and  in  life.  Were  it 
just  to  judge  the  future  from  the  past,  they  would 
be  very  low.  In  my  case,  I  think  it  is  not.  I  have 
never  expected  success  in  my  present  employ 
ment.  My  scholars  are  carefully  instructed,  my 
money  is  faithfully  earned,  but  the  instructor  is 
little  wiser,  and  the  duties  were  never  congenial 
with  my  disposition.  Thus  far  the  dupe  of 
Hope,  I  have  trudged  on  with  my  bundle  at  my 
back,  and  my  eye  fixed  on  the  distant  hill  where 
my  burden  would  fall.  It  may  be  I  shall  write 
dupe  a  long  time  to  come,  and  the  end  of  life 
shall  intervene  betwixt  me  and  the  release.  My 
trust  is  that  my  profession  shall  be  my  regenera 
tion  of  mind,  manners,  inward  and  outward 
estate;  or  rather  my  starting-point,  for  I  have 
hoped  to  put  on  eloquence  as  a  robe,  and  by 
goodness  and  zeal  and  the  awfulness  of  Virtue 
to  press  and  prevail  over  the  false  judgments, 
the  rebel  passions  and  corrupt  habits  of  men. 
We  blame  the  past,  we  magnify  and  gild  the  fu 
ture,  and  are  not  wiser  for  the  multitude  of  days. 
Spin  on,  ye  of  the  adamantine  spindle,  spin  on, 
my  fragile  thread. 


368  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

[CONTINUATION  OF  "GOODBYE,  PROUD  WORLD  "] 

I  'm  going  to  my  own  hearthstone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone, 
A  secret  shrine  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned ; 
Their  twilight  shade,  each  summer  day 
Echoes  the  blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  crowds  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred  to  Mind  and  God. 
O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools  and  the  learned  clan ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet. 

TODAY 

I  rake  no  coffined  clay,  nor  publish  wide 

The  resurrection  of  departed  pride  ; 

Safe  in  their  ancient  crannies,  dark  and  deep, 

Let  kings  and  conquerors,  saints  and  soldiers  sleep. 

Late  in  the  world  —  too  late  perchance  for  fame  — 

Just  late  enough  to  reap  abundant  blame  — 

I  choose  a  novel  theme,  a  bold  abuse 

Of  critic  charters,  an  unlaurelled  Muse. 


1 8z4]    MARY  MOODY  EMERSON     369 

Old  mouldy  men  and  books  and  names  and  lands 

Disgust  my  reason  and  defile  my  hands ; 

I  had  as  lief  respect  an  ancient  shoe 

As  love  old  things  for  age,  and  hate  the  new. 

I  spurn  the  Past,  my  mind  disdains  its  nod, 

Nor  kneels  in  homage  to  so  mean  a  god. 

I  laugh  at  those  who,  while  they  gape  and  gaze, 

The  bald  antiquity  of  China  praise. 

Youth  is   (whatever  cynic  tubs  pretend) 

The  fault  that  boys  and  nations  soonest  mend. 

[The  following  extracts  from  letters  written 
by  Miss  Mary  Emerson  to  her  nephew,  and  his 
to  her  in  reply,  should  properly  be  introduced 
here.  They  are  taken  from  his  journal  or  extract- 
book  No.  XVIII,  2d. 

Mr.  Emerson  in  his  account  of  his  revered 
Aunt  (Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches],  says : 
"She  had  the  misfortune  of  spinning  with  a 
greater  velocity  than  any  of  the  other  tops"  in 
ordinary  motion,  in  conversation,  in  thought.  So 
in  her  writing,  her  thought  leaves  her  expression 
far  behind.  She  often  leaves  out  letters  from 
words,  words  from  sentences,  and  does  not  tarry 
to  finish  her  thought.  Hence  her  letters  and 
journals  are  often  hard  to  make  out.] 


370  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

MISS    EMERSON    TO    R.  W.  E. 

[WATERFORD,  MAINE,]  April  13,  1824. 
"  Imagination  will  always  revolt  at  the  loss 
of  the  butterfly's  beauty,  and  the  rude  waste  of 
the  rich  dew  of  the  welkin  from  its  own  azure 
cups,  —  but  be  patient.  There  are  many  who  are 
forced  to  creep  thro*  the  entrails  of  reptiles  and 
roots  to  find  an  infinite  Designer.  Never  dislike 
their  little  lobes  and  [sic],  and  all  their  capa 
cities  to  enjoy  the  raptures  of  sense,  for  they 
afford  so  much  comfort  to  those  who  seek  for 
analogies,  and  who  are  otherwise  [rather  P]  re 
lated  to  the  amiable  instincts  of  animals  than  to 
the  lofty  relations  of  reason  and  principle  in  the 
higher  orders.  The  longer  you  live,  the  more  you 
will  have  to  endure  the  elementary  existence  of 
society,  and  your  premature  wisdom  will  distaste 
quiescence,  when  the  old  become  gay  and  the 
young  grave  at  the  portraiture  of  a  fly  and  the 
Galen  dissection  of  a  flower.  Then  you  find  no 
necessary  sacredness  in  the  country.  Nor  did 
Milton,  but  his  mind  and  his  spirit  were  their 
own  place  and  came  when  he  called  them  in  the 
solitude  of  darkness.  Solitude,  which  to  people 
not  talented  to  deviate  from  the  beaten  track  is 
the  safe  ground  of  mediocrity,  without  offending, 


,824]  MISS  EMERSON'S  LETTER    371 

is  to  learning  and  genius  the  only  sure  labyrinth, 
tho'  sometimes  gloomy,  to  form  the  eagle  wing 
that  will  bear  one  farther  than  Suns  and  Stars. 
Byron  and  Wordsworth  have  there  best,  and 
only  intensely,  burnished  their  pens.  Would  to 
Providence  your  unfoldings  might  be  there — 
that  it  were  not  a  wild  and  fruitless  wish  that  you 
could  be  disunited  from  travelling  with  the  souls 
of  other  men,  of  living  and  breathing,  reading 
and  writing  with  one  vital  time-sated  idea  — 
their  opinions!  So  close  was  this  conjunction  that 
a  certain  pilgrim  lived  for  some  months  in  an 
eclipse  so  monotonous  as  scarcely  to  discern  the 
disk  of  her  own  particular  star.  Could  a  mind 
return  to  its  first  fortunate  seclusion,  where  it 
opened  with  its  own  peculiar  colours  and  spread 
them  out  on  its  own  rhymypallette  [sic],  with  its 
added  stock,  and  spread  them  beneath  the  cross, 
what  a  mercy  to  the  age !  That  religion  so  poetical, 
so  philosophical,  so  adapted  to  unfold  the  under 
standing,  when  studied  'where  sublime  senti 
ments  and  actions  spring  from  the  desire  which 
Genius  always  possesses  of  breaking  those 
bounds  which  circumscribe  the  imagination.  The 
heroism  of  morals,  the  enthusiasm  of  eloquence, 
the  love  of  an  eternal  fame  are  supernatural 
enjoyments  allotted  only  to  minds  which  are 


372  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

at  once  exalted  and  melancholy,  and  wearied 
and  disgusted  with  everything  transitory  and 
bounded.  This  disposition  of  mind  is  the  source 
of  every  generous  passion  and  philosophical  dis 
covery/  Would  this  description  of  character, 
which  I  have  copied  from  a  glorious  author,  suit 
even  our  boasted  Everett?  Is  he  not  completely 
enveloped  in  foreign  matters  and  an  artificial 
character?  I  am  glad  that  his  notice  has  fallen 
on  Edward,  who  will  be  for  flinging  his  light  on 
a  civil  profession  [rather]  than  on  another  des 
tiny.  .  .  .  Those  c  gospels  of  thought  and  wis 
dom  '  which  you  find  so  gossamer,  — ...  two 
or  three  old  books  contain  everything  grand  for 
me.  Yet  you  call  this  age  the  ripest.  Where  are 
its  Martyrs?  Where  was  an  age  since  Chris 
tianity,  when  the  public  mind  had  less  hold  of 
the  strongest  of  all  truths?  The  mass  will  ever 
be  in  swaddlings,  and  there  ever  have  been  great 
minds,  so  I  cannot  see  clearly  the  comparison 
between  infancy  and  age.  The  arts  not  equalled ; 
and  even  Milton  casting  an  eye  toward  Ovid 
and  Virgil,  which  seems  less  bearable  than  to 
wards  Homer. 

...  I  would  remind  your  Grace  —  tho'  but 
an  Abbess  of  a  humble  Vale — that  the  triple 
bow  was  never  seen  before  the  Deluge ;  nor  is  it 


i8z4]  MISS  EMERSON'S  LETTER    373 

a  legend.  There  were  no  rains  in  those  regions, 
or  none  heavy  enow  to  give  the  binding  of  that 
flowery  verge,  before  the  alteration  the  flood 
caused.  St.  Pierre  favours  this.  Rich  as  is  the 
triple  bow  of  promise  (and  it  has  been  seen 
bending  on  the  grave  of  long  buried  friendship) 
it  would  lose  its  best  beauty,  even  if  the  Com 
mentators'  restoring  it  as  a  Covenant  bow  were 
just.  I  am  glad  to  spew  out  a  scrap  of  learning 
to  your  science-ship  in  revenge  for  your  speak 
ing  of  my  moral  scrawls  and  Sybilline  scraps. 
In  truth  I  have  nothing  of  the  old  Eld  but  as 
many  sands  which  I  fear.  The  better  part  of 
the  flattering  letter  I  receive  as  a  token  of  kind 
ness.  It  was  ingeniously  done  to  write  so  well 
on  my  old  almanacks.  And  I  never  reject  hand 
some  compliment,  for  the  only  thing  would 
occur  to  you,  what  possible  interest  would  any 
one  have  in  flattering  me.  Yet  in  solitude  it 
is  not  necessary,  as  in  society,  where  even  the 
oars  of  life  can  hardly  be  kept  in  motion  without. 
But  if  you  tax  me  with  any  payment  in  the 
course  of  this  letter,  why,  take  it  as  debt  or  due 
to  merit,  for  it  is  always  passable  in  the  best 
society."  .  .  . 


374  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

R.  W.  E.    TO    MISS    EMERSON 

April  30,  1824. 

...  Is  not  life  merely  a  sort  of  perpetual 
motion  ?  One  identical  restlessness  in  all  the 
individuals,  but  applied  by  the  artist  to  many 
works,  —  as  steam  will  turn  a  spit,  or  propel  a 
man  of  war  ?  Different  trades  thrive  at  different 
periods,  and  capital  is  converted  occasionally 
from  one  to  the  other.  Ten  centuries  ago,  the 
human  machines  in  Europe  were  all  busy  as 
wheels  can  be  in  killing  man,  destroying  libra 
ries,  extirpating  art,  justice,  and  mercy.  Today, 
with  the  same  reckless  activity,  good  is  done, 
books  are  written  and  read,  useful  and  elegant 
institutions  reared,  manners  are  polished  and 
morals  revered.  Colleges  take  the  place  of 
schools,  a  sage  of  an  hero.  German,  Saxon,  Hun, 
Dane,  in  dusty  gowns  and  darkened  cloisters, 
by  an  odd  revolution  of  fortune  are  at  this  mo 
ment  exploring  with  critical  acumen  the  rude 
antiquity,  the  manners,  origin,  and  the  war-path 
of  their  ancestors,  and  evincing,  it  may  be,  as 
much  intrepidity  and  unconquerable  pride  in 
pedant  argument  as  did  their  forefathers  when 
they  clashed  their  bucklers  in  the  tented  field. 
No  change  of  manners  leaves  Heaven  without  a 


i8z4]          TO    MISS   EMERSON  375 

witness,  and  Luitprand  and  St.  Gregory  and  St., 
etc.,  are  represented  today  by  Dr.  Channing, 
Dr.  Chalmers,  etc.  But  for  cannibal  Saracens, 
have  come  up  critical  scholars  ;  for  paynim  giants 
locking  their  dungeons,  have  come  up  Howards, 
opening  the  dungeon  doors.  The  use  of  the 
safety-lamp,  of  the  compass  and  of  the  press 
supersede  the  talismans  and  charlatanry  of  su 
perstition.  For  Attila  has  come  Wilberforce, 
and  for  Alaric,  Franklin. 

The  religious  spirit  was  the  excess  of  that  day, 
and  Europe  was  depopulated  in  seven  unsuc 
cessful  crusades.  Spirit  of  liberty  is  the  fashion 
of  this  age,  and  we  have  had  our  unsuccessful 
crusades.  Naples,  Spain  and  Greece  are  the 
coveted  holy  lands  of  modern  chivalry.  I  am 
glad  to  remark  how  much  more  Reason  is  the 
friend  of  our  hopes  than  of  theirs. 

Is  man  the  result  of  men,  or  a  mushroom  ex 
otic  in  every  land  ?  Was  Dr.  Franklin  (one  of 
the  most  sensible  men  that  ever  lived)  as  likely 
to  be  born  elsewhere  as  at  Boston  and  in  17 — ? 
Don't  you  admire  (I  am  not  sure  you  do)  the 
serene  and  powerful  understanding  which  was 
so  eminently  practical  and  useful,  which  grasped 
the  policy  of  the  globe,  and  the  form  of  a  fly, 
with  like  felicity  and  ease;  which  seemed  to  be  a 


376  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

transmigration  of  the  Genius  of  Socrates — yet 
more  useful,  more  moral,  and  more  pure,  and 
a  living  contradiction  of  the  buffoonery  that 
mocked  a  philosophy  in  the  clouds?  Franklin 
was  no  "Seraphic  Doctor,"  no  verbal  gladiator 
clad  in  complete  mail  of  syllogisms,  but  a  sage 
who  used  his  pen  with  a  dignity  and  effect 
which  was  new,  and  had  been  supposed  to  be 
long  only  to  the  sword.  He  was  a  man  of  that 
singular  force  of  mind  (with  which  in  the  course 
of  Providence  so  few  men  are  gifted)  which 
seems  designed  to  effect  by  individual  influence 
what  is  ordinarily  done  by  the  slow  and  secret 
work  of  institutions  and  national  growth.  One 
enjoys  a  higher  conception  of  human  worth  in 
measuring  the  vast  influence  exercised  on  men's 
minds  by  Franklin's  character  than  even  by 
reading  books  of  remote  ages.  Homer  has  in 
deed  triumphed  over  time,  but  a  poem  is,  at 
best,  a  work  of  art,  and  is  seen  ever  with  the 
same  cold  eyes  that  survey  a  marble  statue  or 
Italian  painting.  Whoever  found,  of  all  the  gen 
erations  of  the  readers  of  Homer  —  where  is  the 
madcap  ?  —  that  his  conduct  in  life  was  ruled  or 
biassed  one  moment  after  merry  boyhood  by  the 
blind  bard's  genius?  I  own  I  have  read  some 
where  (perchance  in  Foster's  Essays)  such  an 


i824]    CHOICE   OF    PROFESSION     377 

opinion  avowed,  but  it  smacked  of  extravagance 
then,  and  smacks  now.  But  many  millions  have 
already  lived  and  millions  are  now  alive  who 
have  felt  through  their  whole  lives  the  powerful 
good  effect  both  of  Franklin's  actions  and  his 
writings.  His  subtle  observation,  his  seasonable 
wit,  his  profound  reason  and  his  mild  and 
majestic  virtues  made  him  idolized  in  France, 
feared  in  England,  and  obeyed  in  America. 
Providence  seemed  to  send  him  in  our  hour  of 
need,  qualified  extraordinarily  for  an  extraordi 
nary  service.  Nor  is  it  easy  to  limit  the  fame  of 
the  influence  of  those  who  thus  mightily  act  on 
society.  His  good  offices  reach  through  a  thou 
sand  years  to  posterity  unborn,  who  will  bless 
the  builders  of  this  Doric  temple  of  liberty. 
Moses  and  Aaron,  priests  and  Levites,  led  out 
the  people  into  the  appointed  land,  but,  long 
after,  God  anointed  a  wise  king,  the  wisest  of 
men,  to  settle  the  foundations  of  civil  prosperity 
and  erect  an  altar  to  Himself.  .  .  . 

MYSELF  (continued) 

May  idy  1824. 

It  puzzles  and  mortifies  the  bounding  spirit 
to  be  brought  so  soon  to  a  goal.  A  choice  of 
three  professions,  in  either  of  which  but  a  small 


3?8  JOURNAL  [AGE  20 

portion  of  time  is  professedly  devoted  to  the 
analysis  of  those  high  relations  which  unite  us 
to  God,  and  those  inexplicably  curious  cords  that 
fasten  us  to  matter.  Men's  creeds  can  never,  at 
least  in  youth,  set  the  heart  entirely  at  ease. 
They  strike  the  eye  ever  and  anon  as  fine-spun 
textures  through  which  rebellious  doubt  is  im 
patient,  sometimes  desperate,  to  plunge.  There 
is  a  dreaminess  about  my  mode  of  life  (which 
may  be  a  depravity)  which  loosens  the  tenacity 
of  what  should  be  most  tenacious  —  this  my 
grasp  on  heaven  and  earth.  I  am  the  servant 
more  than  the  master  of  my  fates.  They  seem 
to  lead  me  into  many  a  slough  where  I  do  no 
better  than  despond.  And  as  to  the  life  I  lead, 
and  the  works  and  the  days,  I  should  blush  to 
recite  the  unprofitable  account.  But  prophets 
and  philosophers  assure  me  that  I  am  immortal, 
and  sometimes  my  own  imagination  goes  into  a 
fever  with  its  hopes  and  conceptions.  Tell  me, 
my  soul,  if  this  be  true,  if  these  indolent  days 
and  frivolous  nights,  these  insignificant  accom 
plishments,  this  handful  of  thought,  this  pittance 
of  virtues,  are  to  form  my  trust  and  claim  on  an 
existence  as  imperishable  as  my  Maker's.  There 
is  no  such  thing  accorded  to  the  universal  prayer 
of  man  as  satisfactory  knowledge.  Metaphysics 


i824]  METAPHYSICS  379 

teach  me  admirably  well  what  I  knew  before ; 
setting  out  in  order  particular  after  particular, 
bone  after  bone,  the  anatomy  of  the  mind.  My 
knowledge  is  thus  arranged,  not  augmented. 
Morals,  too,  —  the  proud  science  which  departs 
at  once  from  the  lower  creation  about  which 
most  of  man's  philosophy  is  conversant,  and 
professes  to  deal  with  his  sublimest  connexions 
and  separate  destiny, — morals  are  chiefly  occu 
pied  in  discriminating  between  what  is  general 
and  what  is  partial,  or  in  tying  rules  together  by 
a  thread  which  is  called  a  system  or  a  princi 
ple.  But  neither  metaphysics  nor  ethics  are  more 
than  outside  sciences.  They  give  me  no  insight 
into  the  nature  and  design  of  my  being,  and  the 
profoundest  scholar  in  them  both  is  as  far  from 
any  clue  to  the  Being  and  the  work  behind  the 
scenes,  as  the  Scythian  or  the  Mohawk.  For 
Morals  and  Metaphysics,  Cudworth  and  Locke 
may  both  be  true,  and  every  system  of  religion 
yet  offered  to  man  wholly  false.  To  glowing 
hope,  moreover,  't  is  alarming  to  see  the  full  and 
regular  series  of  animals  from  mites  and  worms 
up  to  man ;  yet  he  who  has  the  same  organiza 
tion  and  a  little  more  mind  pretends  to  an  insu 
lated  and  extraordinary  destiny  to  which  his 
fellows  of  the  stall  and  field  are  in  no  part  ad- 


38o  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

mitted,  nay  are  disdainfully  excluded.1  .  .  .  But 
for  myself,  wo  is  me  !  these  poor  and  barren 
thoughts  are  the  best  in  my  brain  — 

u  The  glow 
That  in  my  spirit  dwelt  is  fluttering  faint  and  low." 

I  am  ambitious  not  to  live  in  a  corner,  or,  which 
is  tenfold  perdition,  to  be  contemptible  in  a 
corner.  Meantime  my  prospect  is  no  better  ; 
my  soul  is  dark  or  is  dead.  I  will  hope  "  She  is 
not  dead,  but  sleepeth." 

ASIA 

Sleep  on,  ye  drowsy  tribes  whose  old  repose 
The  roaring  oceans  of  the  East  enclose ; 
Old  Asia,  nurse  of  man,  and  bower  of  gods, 
The  dragon  Tyranny  with  crown  and  ball 
Chants  to  thy  dreams  his  ancient  lullaby. 

LETTER    TO    PLATO 

The  voice  of  antiquity  has  proclaimed,  most 
venerable  Shade,  that  if  the  Father  of  the  Gods 
should  converse  with  men  he  would  speak  in 
the  language  of  Plato.  In  cloisters  and  colleges, 
lovers  of  philosophy  are  found  to  this  day  who 
repeat  this  praise.  But  the  revolution  of  ages  has 

i  This  is,  perhaps,  the  first  hint  of  his  coming  interest  in 
Evolution. 


i824]         LETTER   TO    PLATO  381 

introduced  other  tongues  into  the  world  and  the 
dialect  of  Attica  is  well-nigh  forgotten.  Rome 
succeeded  to  the  honours  of  Greece  ;  Italy, 
France  and  England  to  the  power  and  refine 
ment  of  Rome,  and  the  children  of  the  proud 
republicans  who  disgraced  Xerxes,  defied  Asia, 
and  instructed  all  Europe,  are  now  cooped  up 
in  a  corner  of  their  patrimony,  making  a  des 
perate  stand  for  their  lives  against  a  barbarous 
nation  whose  bondmen  they  have  been.  In  these 
circumstances,  the  pillars  of  the  Porch  have  been 
broken  and  the  groves  of  the  Academy  felled  to 
the  ground.  Philosophy  discourses  in  another 
language,  and,  though  the  messages  of  Deity 
are  brought  to  men,  they  come  in  terms,  as  well 
is  on  topics,  to  which  you,  illustrious  Athe 
nian  (?),  were  a  stranger.  In  this  old  age  of  the 
world,  I  shall  therefore  speak  to  the  spirit  of 
Plato  in  a  new  language,  but  in  one  whereinto 
has  long  been  transfused  all  the  wealth  of 
ancient  thought,  enriched,  and  perchance  out 
weighed,  by  productions  of  modern  genius.  I 
may  add  that  I  live  in  a  land  which  you  alone 
prophesied  to  your  contemporaries,  where  is 
founded  a  political  system  more  wise  and  suc 
cessful  than  Utopia  or  the  Atlantis. 

You  have  now  dwelled  in  the  land  of  souls 


382  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

upwards  of  twenty  centuries,  and  in  the  mean 
time  mightier  changes  than  those  to  which  I 
have  already  alluded  have  appeared  on  earth.  I 
have  no  design  to  interrupt  your  serene  repose 
with  the  weary  annals  of  political  convulsion. 
These  were  always  alike,  and  the  fortunes  of  ages 
may  be  told  from  an  infancy  as  brief  as  man's 
life.  The  desperate  state  of  the  Greek  Republic 
concerns  me  not ;  it  has  long  ceased  to  touch 
yourself.  I  write  of  higher  revolutions  and  vaster 
communities.  I  write  of  the  moral  and  religious 
condition  of  man. 

As  the  world  has  grown  older,  the  theory  of 
life  has  grown  better,  while  a  correspondent  im 
provement  in  practice  has  not  been  observed. 
Eighteen  hundred  years  ago  a  Revelation  came 
down  from  heaven  which  distinctly  declared  the 
leading  principles  of  ethics,  arid  that  in  so  clear 
and  popular  a  form  that  the  very  terms  in  which 
they  were  conveyed  served  the  most  illiterate  as 
well  as  the  great  and  wise  for  a  manual,  a  Rule 
of  life.  The  book  which  contains  this  divine 
message  has  done  more  than  any  other  to  sap 
the  authority  —  I  might  say,  to  sweep  away  the 
influence  —  of  Socrates  and  his  disciple.  Men 
still  commend  your  wisdom,  for  indeed,  Plato, 
thou  reasonest  well,  but  Christ  and  his  apostles 


i824]         LETTER   TO    PLATO          383 

infinitely  better,  —  not  through  thy  fault,  but 
through  their  inspiration.  Thus  a  religious  revo 
lution  has  taken  place  in  the  midst  of  civilized 
nations,  more  radical  and  extensive  than  any 
other  which  ever  came,  be  it  religious,  scientific 
or  political.  Men  are  now  furnished  with  creeds, 
animated  by  all  the  motives  a  gospel  offers,  and 
they  look  back  with  pity  on  the  proud  attain 
ments  of  the  pagan  Plato  and  his  emulous  suc 
cessors,  and  around  upon  the  living  pagan  na 
tions  of  the  East  and  West.  This  Dispensation 
of  the  Supreme  Being  is  expounded  and  enforced 
to  all  classes  of  men  by  a  regular  priesthood. 

That  priesthood  finds  riddles  in  their  vocation 
hard  to  solve,  wonders  not  easy  to  digest.  They 
examine  with  curious  inquiry  public  annals  and 
private  anecdotes  of  your  age  to  ascertain  the 
just  level  to  which  human  virtue  had  then  arisen; 
to  find  how  general  were  integrity,  temperance, 
and  charity;  to  find  how  much  the  gods  were 
reverenced ;  and  then  to  compare  accurately  the 
result  with  the  known  condition  of  modern 
Europe  and  America.  For  it  is  not  believed 
possible  by  those  living  under  the  influence  of 
such  new  and  puissant  principles  as  our  gospel 
hath  erected,  that  any  high  standard  could  have 
obtained  of  thought  or  action  under  the  patron- 


384  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

age  of  your  gaudy  and  indecent  idolatry.  But 
now  and  then  a  scholar  whose  midnight  lamp  is 
regularly  lit  to  unfold  your  spirit,  appeals  from 
the  long  mythology  which  the  poets  forged,  to 
your  own  lofty  speculations  on  the  nature  of  the 
Gods  and  the  obligations  to  virtue — which 
Christianity  hath  rather  outstripped  than  con 
tradicted  ;  when  a  scholar  appeals  from  that  to 
these  for  the  true  belief  of  good  men,  your  con 
temporaries,  he  is  told  that  the  mass  of  men  re 
garded  your  pages  as  fine-spun  theories,  unsanc- 
tioned,  unpractical,  untrue;  that  you,  Plato,  did 
not  know  if  there  were  many  gods  or  but  One; 
that  you  inculcated  the  observance  of  the  vulgar 
superstitions  of  the  day.  If  the  law  of  the  uni 
verse  admitted  of  exception,  and  it  were  allowed 
me  to  depart  to  your  refulgent  shores  and  com 
mune  with  Plato,  this  is  the  information  I  should 
seek  at  your  hands.  How  could  those  parts  of 
the  social  machine  whose  consistency  and  just 
action  depends  entirely  upon  the  morality  and 
religion  sown  and  grown  in  the  community,  how 
could  these  be  kept  in  safe  and  efficient  arrange 
ment  under  a  system  which,  besides  being  friv 
olous,  was  the  butt  of  vulgar  ridicule? 

Is  it  necessary  that  men  should  have  before 
them  the  strong  excitement  of  religion  and  its 


1824]          LETTER  TO    PLATO          385 

thrilling  motives?  One  who  was  accustomed  to 
constant  pressure  of  their  yoke  would  pronounce 
it  indispensable.  It  was  so  specially  made  for  man 
and  blends  so  intimately  with  his  nature  and 
habits  that  it  is  difficult  for  the  believer  to  con 
ceive  of  unbelief.  Nay,  the  influence  seems  to 
spread  a  great  deal  wider  and  to  affect  all  those 
who  belong  to  a  religious  country,  though  the 
predominance  of  these  feelings  be  no  part  of 
their  character.  But  'tis  very  possible  that  this 
may  be  illusory  and  it  seems  to  me  if  we  study 
the  particular  actions  making  up  the  aggregate 
which  we  call  character,  and  abandon  generalities, 
we  shall  find  that  there  is  a  great  self-deception 
practised  daily  in  society  where  gospels  are  pro- 
mulged,  and  that  the  proneness  of  men  to  judge 
of  themselves  by  their  best  moments,  combining 
with  that  unqualified  approbation  which  every 
moral  being  must  needs  yield  to  a  system  so 
pure,  leads  men  to  suspect  that  the  deeds  they 
do  from  a  broad  view  of  their  interest,  they  do 
from  religious  motives  and  a  powerful  bias  to 
Virtue. 

It  is  a  favourite  point,  Plato,  with  our  divines, 
to  argue  from  the  misery  and  vice  anciently  pre 
valent  in  the  world,  a  certain  necessity  of  the 
Revelation.  Of  this  Revelation  I  am  the  ardent 


386  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

friend.  Of  the  Being  who  sent  it  I  am  the  child, 
and  I  trust  I  am  disposed  from  reason  and  affec 
tion  with  the  whole  force  of  my  understanding, 
the  warmth  of  my  heart,  and  the  constant  atten 
tion  of  all  my  life,  to  practise  the  duties  there 
enjoined  and  to  help  its  diffusion  throughout  the 
globe.  But  I  confess  it  has  not  for  me  the  same 
exclusive  and  extraordinary  claims  it  has  for 
many.  I  hold  Reason  to  be  a  prior  Revelation, 
and  that  they  do  not  contradict  each  other.  I 
conceive  that  the  Creator  addresses  his  messages 
to  the  minds  of  his  children,  and  will  not  mock 
them  by  acting  upon  their  moral  character  by 
means  of  motives  which  are  wild  and  unintelli 
gible  to  them.  The  assent  which  fear  and  su 
perstition  shall  extort  from  them  to  words  or 
rites  or  reasons  which  they  do  not  understand, 
since  it  makes  a  ruin  of  the  mind,  can  please 
none  but  a  cruel  and  malicious  divinity.  The 
belief  of  such  a  god  and  such  sublime  depravity 
is  absurd.  His  house  is  divided  against  itself. 
His  house,  his  universe,  cannot  stand.  The  er 
rand  which  the  true  God  sends,  which  men  have 
hoped  to  receive,  which  philosophers  waited  for 
in  your  Porches  and  Schools,  —  must  be  worthy 
of  him,  or  it  will  be  rejected  as  a  mountebank's 
tales  and  wonders.  What  we  do  not  apprehend, 


1824]         LETTER   TO    PLATO  387 

we  first  admire,  and  then  ridicule.  Therefore  I 
scout  all  these  parts  of  the  book  which  are  reck 
oned  mysteries. 

But  one  of  the  greatest  of  these  is  of  external, 
rather  than  internal,  character,  by  which  the 
Revelation  is  made  but  a  portion  of  a  certain 
great  scheme  planned  from  eternity  in  heaven  to 
be  slowly  developed  on  earth.  It  is  made  essen 
tial  to  the  economy  of  Providence  and  necessary 
to  the  welfare  of  man.  I  need  not  inform  you  in 
all  its  depraved  details  of  the  theology  under 
whose  chains  Calvin  of  Geneva  bound  Europe 
down;  but  this  opinion,  that  the  Revelation  had 
become  necessary  to  the  salvation  of  men  through 
some  conjunction  of  events  in  heaven,  is  one  of 
its  vagaries.  This  is  one  which,  from  whatever 
cause,  has  lingered  in  men's  minds  after  the  rest 
of  that  family  of  errors  disappeared.  And  sober 
and  sensible  theologians  speak  of  the  ages  pre 
ceding  the  event  as  a  long  preparation  for  it,  and 
of  the  whole  history  of  man  as  only  relative  to 
it.  The  cases  are  so  few  in  which  we  can  see 
connexion  and  order  in  events,  by  reason  of  the 
narrow  field  of  our  vision,  that  we  are  glad  in 
our  vanity  if  we  can  solder  with  our  imagina 
tions  into  a  system,  things  in  fact  unconnected, 
can  turn  the  ravishment  of  devotion  or  poetry 


388  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

into  prophecies,  by  searching  up  and  down  in  the 
great  garner  of  history  for  an  event  that  will 
chime  with  a  prediction. 

THE    GREEKS 

.  .  .  The  Grecian  genius  did  not  start  into 
life  with  the  victories  of  Salamis  and  Plataea,  but 
was  born  and  disciplined  before  Homer  sang. 

AMERICA 

When  this  country  is  censured  for  its  fool 
hardy  ambition  to  take  a  stand  in  its  green  years 
among  old  and  proud  nations,  it  is  no  reproach 
and  no  disqualification  to  be  told,  But  you  have 
no  literature.  It  is  admitted  we  have  none.  But 
we  have  what  is  better.  We  have  a  government 
and  a  national  spirit  that  is  better  than  poems  or 
histories,  and  these  have  a  premature  ripeness 
that  is  incompatible  with  the  rapid  production 
of  the  latter.  We  should  take  shame  to  our 
selves  as  sluggish  and  Boeotian  if  it  were  right 
eously  said  that  we  had  done  nothing  for 
ourselves,  neither  in  learning,  nor  arts,  nor  gov 
ernment,  nor  political  economy.  But  we  see  and 
feel  that  in  the  space  of  two  generations  this 
nation  has  taken  such  a  start  as  already  to  out 
strip  the  bold  freedom  of  modern  speculation 


i824]  MANNERS  389 

which  ordinarily  (universally,  but  for  this  case) 
is  considerably  in  advance  of  practice.  No  man 
calls  Mr.  Hume  an  old-fashioned  and  short 
sighted  politician,  yet  many  pages  of  his  history 
have  lost  their  credit  already  by  the  practical 
confutation  of  their  principles.  'T  is  no  disgrace 
to  tell  Newton  he  is  no  poet,  nor  America  even. 

MANNERS1 

Pericles,  Caesar,  Chesterfield,  Henry  IV  of 
France.  It  certainly  is  worth  one's  while,  who 
considers  what  sway  elegant  manners  bear  in 
society,  and  how  wealth,  genius  and  moral  worth, 
all  extrinsic  and  intrinsic  good  in  men,  do,  in 
society,  feel  their  empire, —  it  becomes  a  clear 
command  of  reason  to  cultivate  them.  There  are 
some  men,  wittily  called  Nature's  Gentlemen, 
who  need  no  discipline,  but  grow  straight  up 
into  shape  and  grace  and  can  match  the  proud 
est  in  dignified  demeanour  and  the  gentlest  in 
courtesy.  Of  these  the  line  in  the  old  song  is  a 
thousand  times  quoted, 

"  My  face  Js  my  fortune,  Sir,  she  said." 
...  I  speak  here  of  no  transient  success  in 

I    Compare  the  Motto  to  essay  on  "Behaviour"  (Conduct 
of  Life),  also  printed  in  Poems. 


390  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

tying  a  neckcloth  aright,  and  making  a  fashion 
able  bow,  and  speaking  in  the  precise  nick  of 
time,  and  the  just  length,  but  of  manners  of  a 
sensible  man  when  they  become  the  chief  chan 
nel  in  which  a  man's  sense  runs ;  of  those  which 
are  the  plain  index  of  fine  sense  and  fine  feelings, 
which  impress  all  and  offend  none.  The  speci 
mens  of  this  sort  are  to  be  searched  for  in  the 
summits  of  society,  —  for  these  manners  are  in 
variably  successful,  —  or  among  the  young,  not 
yet  advanced.  They  had  better  be  observed  in 
youth,  for  there  is  nothing  in  art  or  nature  so 
charming  as  the  brilliant  manners  of  one  of  these 
candidates  for  eminence  before  adulation  has  got 
to  be  an  old  song  with  him,  while  hope  and  love 
dazzle  him.  Their  address  is  marked  by  an  alac 
rity  of  manner  arising  from  elasticity  of  spirits 
and  of  limbs  that  no  eye  can  watch  unmoved. 
The  spectacle  these  afford  is  a  perfect  tonic  in 
its  physical  effect,  like  light,  or  like  wine.  It 
imparts  an  impulse  of  cheerfulness  not  easily 
withstood  to  all  within  their  influence  ;  it  effaces 
for  a  moment  the  omnipresent  consciousness  of 
sin,  sickness,  sorrow.  It  is  an  attractive  subject. 
.  .  .  "Many  men,"  said  Montaigne,  "I  have 
known  of  supercelestial  opinions  and  subterra 
nean  manners."  . 


1 824]  MANNERS  391 

.  .  .  Manners  is  a  fourth  fine  art,  and,  like 
Painting,  Poetry  and  Sculpture,  is  founded  on 
fiction.  It  is  a  mask  worn  by  men  of  sense  to 
deceive  the  vulgar,  ape  the  conduct  of  every 
superior  intelligence.  Thus  I  know  models  who 
affect  to  drop  carelessly  the  most  subtle  wit  or 
profound  thought.  Every  virtue  is  spoken  of 
with  respect,  even  those  to  which  their  private 
life  bears  little  love.  Every  event  is  treated 
with  its  exact  measure  of  interest,  —  sickness 
and  death,  a  balloon  and  a  butterfly,  being  dis 
cussed  with  the  same  cool  philosophy. 

In  the  practice  of  these  wise  masters  I  know 
different  theories  of  manners  prevail,  and  are  as 
many  as  the  systems  of  philosophy  —  for  this  is 
a  species  of  second  philosophy,  and  may  be 
termed  the  philosophy  of  life.  Thus  the  sect  of 
the  Stoics  will  have  their  mannerists  who  would 
command  in  good  company  by  inflexible  recep 
tion  of  good  and  ill.  Democritus  has  many,  even 
Heraclitus  a  few.  Socrates  has  some  disciples, 
who  use  plain  speech  and  practical  as  J.  L.,  but 
the  predominant  sect  are  those  who  hold  fast 
with  the  Epicureans,  —  independent  and  good- 
humoured. 


JOURNAL  [AGE  21 


BOOKS 

.  .  .  Apart  from  the  vastness  of  transitory 
volumes  which  occasional  politics  or  a  thousand 
ephemeral  magnalia  elicit,  .  .  .  there  is  another 
sort  of  book  which  appears  now  and  then  in  the 
world,  once  in  two  or  three  centuries  perhaps,  and 
which  soon  or  late  gets  a  foothold  in  popular  es 
teem.  I  allude  to  those  books  which  collect  and 
embody  the  wisdom  of  their  times,  and  so  mark 
the  stages  of  human  improvement.  Such  are 
the  Proverbs  of  Solomon,  the  Essays  of  Mon 
taigne,  and  eminently  the  Essays  of  Bacon.  Such 
also  (though  in  my  judgment  in  far  less  degree) 
is  the  proper  merit  of  Mr.  Pope's  judicious 
poems,  the  Moral  Essays  and  Essay  on  Man, 
which,  without  originality,  seize  upon  all  the 
popular  speculations  floating  among  sensible 
men  and  give  them  in  a  compact  graceful  form 
to  the  following  age.  I  should  like  to  add  an 
other  volume  to  this  valuable  work.  I  am  not 
so  foolhardy  as  to  write  Sequel  to  Bacon  on  my 
title-page  ;  and  there  are  some  reasons  that  in 
duce  me  to  suppose  that  the  undertaking  of  this 
enterprise  does  not  imply  any  censurable  arro 
gance.  ...  It  may  be  made  clear  that  there  may 
be  the  Wisdom  of  an  Age,  independent  of  and 


i824]  CONCLUSION  393 

above  the  Wisdom  of  any  individual  whose  life  is 
numbered  in  its  years.  And  the  diligence  rather 
than  the  genius  of  one  mind  may  compile  the 
prudential  maxims,  domestic  and  public  maxims 
current  in  the  world  and  which  may  be  made  to 
surpass  the  single  stores  of  any  writer,  as  the 
richest  private  funds  are  quickly  exceeded  by  a 
public  purse. 


CONCLUSION 


Why  has  my  motley  diary  no  jokes?  Because 
it  is  a  soliloquy  and  every  man  is  grave  alone. 

I.  There  is  no  royal  road  to  Learning. 

II.  Let  not  your  virtue  be  of  the  written  or 
spoken  sort,  but  of  the  practised. 

III.  The  two  chief  differences  among  men 
(touching  the  talents)  consist,  i,  in  the  different 
degrees  of  attention  they  are  able  to  command  ; 
2,  in  the  unlike  expression  they  give  to  the  same 
ideas. 

IV.  There  is  time  enough  for  every  business 
men  are  really  resolved  to  do. 

V.  Obsta  principiis.  Take    heed    of  getting 
cloyed  with   that    honeycomb  which    Flattery 
tempts  with.    'T  is  apt  to  blunt  the  edge  of 
appetite  for  many  wholesome  viands,  and  rob 
you  of  many  days  of  health. 


394  JOURNAL  [AGE  21 

Let  no  man  flatter  himself  with  the  hope  of 
true  good  or  solid  enjoyment  from  the  study  of 
Shakspeare  or  Scott.  Enjoy  them  as  recreation. 
You  cannot  please  yourself  by  going  to  stare  at 
the  moon ;  't  is  beautiful  when  in  your  course  it 
conies. 


END    OF    VOLUME    I 


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